hL 
65 


UC-NRLF 


B  M  an  215 


0^  • 


THE  ROLE  OF  EXPECTATION 
IN   MUSIC 


A  STUDY  IN  THE  PSYCHOLOGY 
OF  MUSIC 


BY 


ARTHUR  DART  BISSELL 

A  Dissertation  presented  to  the  Faculty  of  the  Graduate 

School  of  Yale  University,  in   candidacy   for 

the  Degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy 


^ 


\ 


NEW  HAVEN.  CONNECTICUT 
May   1st.   1921 


3  6- 


GIFT 


TO 

GEORGE  TRUMBULL  LADD 

In   grateful  recognition 


1USHES  PRINTS  CO    ST    LOUIS 


INTRODUCTION 

ONLY  a  very  few  of  those  who  show  skill,  or  even  attain  celebrity, 
in  any  form  of  art  are  expert  students  of  the  psychology  of  the 
art  they  practice,  or  of  aesthetical  philosophy  in  general.  All 
artists  are,  of  course,  conscious  of  certain  judgments  and  feelings 
which  impel  and  guide  their  practical  achievements.  They  may  also 
suspect  certain  undefinable  instincts  and  obscure  impulses  which  co- 
operate to  the  same  end.  But  they  have  never  collated  and  analyzed 
or  attempted  to  evaluate,  the  various  phases  of  their  conscious  ex- 
perience; even  less  have  they  uncovered  the  variety,  force,  and  related 
influence,  of  the  rnental  processes  that  hover  about  the  borders  of  the 
conscious  mental  life,  or  belong  to  the  sphere  of  the  properly  so-called 
"subsconscious."  As  to  the  metaphysical  ground  of  the  whole  experience 
and  of  the  whole  realm  of  aesthetical  endeavor  and  achievement  in  its 
relation  to  the  world  of  reality,  they  have  little  interest.  Indeed,  they 
may  regard  such  cjuest  for  the  foundations  of  reality  in  man's  artistic 
life  and   work  as  unworthy  of   serious  study. 

On  the  other  hand,  only  a  few  of  those  who  have  written  and 
taught  the  psychological  theory  or  metaphysics  of  any  form  of  art, 
or  of  aesthetics  in  general,  have  been  of  marked  artistic  temperament, 
or  have  attained  remarkable  skill  in  any  form  of  artistic  achievement. 
Their  psychology  is  rather  a  matter  of  remote  inference,  than  of  near 
and  immediate  experience.  But  the  science  of  the  aesthetical  is  not 
like  the  sciences  of  the  physical  or  chemical  order.  Nor  can  it  in  all 
its  most  important  and  interesting  phases  be  treated  experimentally. 
The  greatest  interest,  as  well  as  the  greatest  value,  then,  belongs 
to  the  opinions  of  those  who  are  both  artist  and  psychologist,  in  dealing 
with  the  psychology  of  any  kind  of  art.  And,  on  the  whole,  this 
would  seem  to  be  most  emphatically  true  of  the  art  of  music.  This 
is  true  because  the  art  of  music  is  so  largely  concerned  with  the 
expression,  control,  and  appreciation,  of  certain  sounds  that  are  born 
of  obscure  origin,  and  no  sooner  born,  rapidly  die  away,  rather  than 
of  permanent  facts  which  vision  can  with  steadiness  contemplate, 
and  memory  accurately  record.  The  musician  who  is  also  a  psychologist 
has,  therefore,  his  unique  value. 

Dr.  Bissell,  for  a  life-time,  for  fully  forty  years,  has  been  a  careful 
student  and  teacher  of  psychology,  and  also  a  student,  teacher,  and 
composer  of  music.  For  some  time  he  has  been  definitely  and  diligently 
studying  the  problem:  "The  Psychology  of  Music."  As  an  expert, 
he  has  studied  this  problem,  not  simply  as  it  appeared  in  his  own 
experience,  but  as  it  appears  in  the  musical  compositions  of  many 
scores  of  musical  composers. 

The  psychology  of  music  is  a  theme  so  vast  and  varied  as  to  be 
beyond  the  compass  of  any  one  man,  no  matter  how  well  fitted  for  the 
task.  For  a  "Doctor's  Thesis,"  however,  it  is  required  that  some 
definite  theme  shall  be  chosen,  expressible  and  precise,  and  capable 
of  something  approaching  at  least  an  answer  which  shall  challenge 
debate,  but  which  shall,  at  the  same  time,  promise  some  contribution 
of  distinct  value  to  human  knowledge  on  the  subject.  Much  time 
and  great  care  were  taken  in  selecting  such  a  theme  for  treatment 
in  this  thesis.  Nowhere  else,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  has  this  particular 
detailed  inquiry  into  a  certain  problem  of  the  psychology  of  music 
been  attempted  by  any  writer,  whether  competent  or  incompetent. 
For  the  special  competency  of  Dr.  Bissell,  and  for  the  great  amount 
of  expert  knowledge  which  he  has  put  upon  the  treatment,  I  bear 
witness   with   pleasure. 

(lEORGE   Trumbull    Ladd. 
New   Haven,   August,    1920. 


3 


4Gi935 


PREFACE 

A  FEW  WORDS  of  explanation  seem  called  for,  by  way  of  preface, 
as  to  certain  features  in  the  handling  of  material  in  this  paper. 
The  bibliography  contains  no  names  of  writers  on  this  specific 
subject  becau  se  I  was  unable  to  find  any.  Works  that  were  consulted 
in  an  effort  to  define  the  problem  have  been  noted,  also  others  that 
have  contributed  helpful  suggestions.  In  discussions  of  attention  and 
rhythm  where  the  subject  matter  is  common  property,  so  to  speak,  or 
part  and  parcel  of  my  own  reflective  thinking,  I  have  not  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  mention  every  writer  who  deals  with  the  same  material;  the 
aim  in  both  is  too  general  except  where  specific  applications  to  music 
are  pointed  out;  and  for   those  there  are  no  authorities. 

In  the  passages  discussing  the  facts  of  music  I  have  not  deemed 
it  necessary  to  espouse  any  theory  on  such  matters  still  in  controversy  as 
degrees  and  nature  of  assonance,  scientific  theory  of  melody  and 
harmony,  or  any  other.  The  aim  has  been  to  analyze  the  common 
facts  of  the  universal  experience  of  music  in  the  terms  in  common  use, 
leaving  it  for  others  to  work  out  those  problems  to  their  ultimate 
conclusion.  Nor  is  my  aim  so  Jjretentious  as  to  present  a  comprehensive 
or  final  explanation  of  musical  experience;  it  is  the  more  modest  one 
of  calling  attention  to  an  important  and  as  yet  neglected  factor  in 
that  experience.  In  spite  of  differences  of  opinion  in  details  involved 
in  such  an  analytical  study — and  there  is  always  room  for  those — it 
seems  to  me  that  the  main  contention  is  substantiated. 

As  a  final  word  it  should  be  said  that  the  experience  subjected  to 
analysis  is  that  of  the  appreciative  listener,  not  that  of  the  composer 
or  the  student  of  theory,  much  less  that  of  the  psychological  analyst. 
I  have  been  in  a  more  or  less  musical  atmosphere  all  my  life,  as 
listener,  performer  (piano,  organ,  voice),  composer  and  student,  and 
have  been  much  given  to  introspective  observation.  It  is  largely 
the  results  of  this  last  that  have  been  gradually  elaborated  and  are 
here  presented. 

If  I  seem  to  refer  to  Beethoven  frequently,  my  excuse  is^that 
his  works  are  well-known  and  easily  accessible,  and  personally  I  happen 
to    be   best   acquainted    with   him. 


Tlie   Role   of  Expectation  in  Music 


INTRODUCTION 

I.     SURVEY  OF  WORK  IN  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MUSIC. 

Many  investigators  have  been  engaged  on  the  problems  here 
involved  and  much  light  has  been  thrown  on  many  of  these.  The 
purpose  of  this  brief  survey  is  not  to  present  any  complete  or  even 
approximately  complete  statement  of  the  work  aecomplisliefl,  but  an 
outline  suf^cient  to  serve  as  a  background  for  the  investigation  under- 
taken in  the  present  paper.  The  justification  for  this  procedure  lies 
in  the  fact  that  while  the  elaborate  studies  made  in  many  different 
directions  have  necessarly  some  indirect  bearing  on  the  immediate 
subject  in  hand,  no  one,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  has 
more  than  casually  mentioned  the  latter;  it  is  taken  for  granted  as 
obviously  involved,  so  obviously  as  hardly  to  call  for  special  study. 
In  fact,  the  only  writer  who  deigns  to  give  it  more  than  passing 
mention  is  not  engaged  in  a  psychological  study  at  all,  but  a  more 
or  less  critical  discussion  of  the  aesthetics  of  music  as  illustrated  in 
certain  composers;*  and  he  dismisses  it  with  a  paragraph,  and  does 
not  consider  it  of  sufficient  importance  to  mention  it  in  the  index. 
Even  Mr.  Britanf  in  a  work  that  explieitely  discusses  the  psychology 
of  music,  devoting  an  entire  division  to  it,  seems  not  to,  consider 
expectation  anything  of  a  separate  problem.  Consequently  there  is, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  literature  that  bears  directly  on  the  problem 
selected  for  discussion  and  the  material  as  well  as  the  method  of  treat- 
ment were  necessarily  sought  out  and  worked  out  independently.  The 
various  elements  involved  in  music  have  been  more  or  less  elaborately 
treated  in  a  series  of  studies  that  have  added  enormously  to  our 
understanding  of  the  mental  processes  involved  and  the  typical  re- 
actions  of   musical   experience. 

Among  the  most  important  of  these  studies  are  those  on  Rhythm. 
Bucherl  undertook  to  prove  the  economic  importance  of  rhythm  as  a 
stimulus  in  labor,  and  others  since  have  dealt  with  various  aspects 
of  the  same  problem.  Irksomeness  and  fatigue  are  much  relieved  by 
the  use  of  rhythm  either  in  the  labor  or  with  it,  while  some  tasks 
are  felt  as  actually  pleasurable  which  without  it  would  be  unpleasant. 

Wundt  has  an  elaborate  treatment  not  only  of  the  numerous 
elements  that  enter  into  the  complete  experience  of  rhythm**,  but  of 
its  originft  and  its  development  as  well.  Much  of  this  has  a  direct 
bearing  on  problems  of  music  as  has  been  fully  brought  out  by  Seashorett. 

♦Studies  in  Modern  Music;  Hadow,  H.  W.,   1st  Series,  p.  64.     Later  ed.  more  fully. 

tThe  Philocophy  of  Music. 

JArbeit  und  Rhythmus. 

**Phys.  Psych.  6th  ed.   vol.  III.  chs  XV,  XVI,  XVIII,  XIX. 

ttThe  importance  in  this  process  of  the  movements  involved  in  walking  had  been  pointed 

out  by  me  in  an  unpublished  lecture  before  I  read  Wundt's  full  discus.sion. 
ttPsychology  of  Musical  Talent,  chs.  Ill,  IV.  V. 

— iii — 


and  all  serves  to  present  a  background  for  the  operation  of  the  special 
feelings  and  tendencies  discussed  in  the  present  paper.  The  same 
is  true  of  the  treatment  of  syncopated  and  irregular  rhythms  by 
Patterson*.     But  none  of  these  writers  indicate  the  connection. 

Attention  in  its  special  form  of  expectant  attention  is  more  direct- 
ly applicable  to  the  phenomena  of  music,  but  is  not  always  considered 
important  enough  for  special  study.  Thus  Pillsbury's  elaborate  dis- 
cussion! does  not  mention  the  topic  in  any  of  the  summaries  at  the 
close  of  the  chapters  nor  in  the  index.  WundtJ  has  a  brief  account 
of  expectation  and  its  correlatives  of  fulfillment  and  surprise,  also 
Ladd,§  but  both  these  writers  are  concerned  with  the  phenomena  of 
strain  and  relief  involved  in  the  experience  and  the  modifying  effect 
that  expectation  exercises  on  subsequent  sensations  in  the  direction 
of  clearness  on  the  one  hand  and  illusion  on  the  other,  and  neither 
hints  at  any  connection  of  these  experiences  with  the  enjoyment  of 
music. 

Auditory  phenomena  of  all  kinds — with  or  without  application 
to  music — have  been  made  the  subject  of  elaborate  investigation  ever 
since  the  work  of  Helmholtz  and'  Stumpf.  The  sense  of  pitch,  of 
consonance  and  dissonance,  of  chord  harmony,  auditory  space  and 
time,  the  auditory  image,  difference  between  major  and  minor,  all 
these  have  in  turn  occupied  the  field  of  inquiry  and  rival  threoies 
have  been  proposed  to  explain  the  facts  for  scientific  psychology. 
An  admirable  summary  of  this  work,  with  practical  applications,  is 
presented  by  Seashore**,  for  whose  aims  the  controversies  as  such 
are  of  secondary  importance.  It  has  been  made  clear,  however,  in 
the  process  of  these  laborious  studies  that  even  the  simplest  of  musical 
experiences  is  a  much  more  complicated  affair  than  had  been  supposed. 
One  of  the  most  fruitful  results  achieved  is  the  clear  evidence  of  how 
vitally  the  nervous  system  is  involved  in  all  such  experiences,  from 
the  primitive  to  the  most  highly  developed  modern.  This  aspect  of 
the  case  is  presented  by  Jentschft  with  some  fulness,  but  is  also  treated 
in  the  general  works  on  physiological  psychology.  Studies  of  special 
interest  on  the  nature  of  melody  as  well  as  its  effects  have  been  made 
by  Weld,|:t  Bingham, §§  and  Meyer,***  with  considerable  differences  in 
conclusion,  not  however  necessarily  contradictory.  An  especially 
stimulating  discussion  of  the  intellectual  element  in  music  is  to  be  found 
in  the  essay  of  Nortonfft.  but  if,  as  he  says,  that  is  a  neglected  aspect 
of  musical  appreciation,  expectation  as  an  important  factor  in  that 
aspect  is  certainly  deserving  of  mention.  If  there  is  some  work  or 
review  article  in  which  this  factor  in  the  enjoyment  and  appreciation 
of  music  is  discussed  with  any  fulness,  I  have  simply  overlooked  it 
in  a  rather  careful  search.  For  questions  touching  the  history  and 
interpretation  of  music  and  composers  I  am  much  indebted  to  the 
writings  of  Parryttf,  Hadow§§§,  Mason****,  Rollandfttt  and  GrovcttJt 
particularly  to  those  of  Mason.  I  also  wish  here  to  acknowledge  my 
direct  indebtedness  to  Dr.  George  Trumbull  Ladd,  for  personal  encour- 
agement and  stimulating  suggestions. 

*The  Rhythm  of  Prose 

tAttention 

JOp.  cit.  pp.  320f. 

§Phys.  Psychology,  pp.  621f. 

**0p.  cit.  passim. 

ttMusik  znd  Nerven. 

JJExperimental  Study  of  Musical  Enjoyment. 

§§Studies  in  Melody. 

***Pshcyological  Theory  of  Music;  Exper.  Studies  in  Psych,  of  Music. 

TTtThe  Intellectual  Element  in  Music. 

UtEvolution  of  the  Art  of  Music 

§§§Op.  Cit. 

****Beethoven  and  his  Forerunners,  and  the  entire  series. 

TTTTJean  Christophie;  Beethoven. 

tlttDicUonary  of  Music  and  Musicians;  The  Nine  Symphonies  of  Beethoven. 


II.  GENERAL  FEATURES  OF  EXPECTANT  ATTENTION. 

Attention  seems  to  be  the  name  psycliology  has  agreed  upon  to 
indicate  the  degree  of  mental  energy,  whether  voluntary  or  involuntary, 
actually  engaged  in  presenting  more  or  less  vividly  some  sensation 
or  object  or  image  or  thought  before  the  field  of  consciousness.  The 
difficulty  involved  in  attending  to  an  element  of  feeling  lies  in  the 
fact  that  there  is  a  certain  feeling-tone  of  interest  always  associated 
with  the  attention,  which  is  greater  when  this  is  voluntary,  and  that 
feelling  of  interest  tends  to  supplant  the  feeling  to  which  attention 
is  directed.  Severe  pain  might  assert  itself  over  against  this  feeling 
of  interest  but  it  is  itself  too  serious  a  disturbance  of  the  process  of 
attention.  There  is  also  a  motor  accompaniment  to  attention  which, 
like  the  feeling  of  interest,  is  more  marked  with  the  voluntary  atten- 
tion. 

Involuntary  attention  may  be  illustrated  by  such  experience  as 
the  following:  I  meet  an  acquaintance  on  the  street  and  glance  up 
out  of  a  brown  study.  Being  so  p re-occupied  my  mind  receives  only 
a  sort  of  confused  impression:  "face."  I  pass  on  without  bowing  and 
a  couple  of  seconds  later  the  impression  clears  up,  the  features  are 
distinct,  and  too  late  to  bow  I  recognize  a  familiar  face.  The  interrup- 
tion of  my  absorbing  train  of  thought  in  glancing  up  released  enough 
mental  energy  to  define  the  confused  sensation  content  and  took  a 
certain  amount  of  time  to  do  it.  Or  again,  in  the  partly  instinctive 
effort  to  save  myself  from  injury  in  a  fall,  I  seize  an  object  with  my 
hands;  as  before  from  the  eye,  so  now  from  the  hand,  comes  a  confused 
sensation  content:  "something."  If  no  defining  process  had  ensued 
I  could  have  reported  nothing  as  to  shape  or  hardness  or  position. 
But  here  again,  after  the  immediate  preoccupation  in  connection  with 
the  fall  has  abated,  mental  energy  was  released  and  the  "object  was 
defined  and  I  perceived  the  peculiar  rounded  shape  and  medium  hard- 
ness and  recognized  it.  In  neither  of  these  cases  cited  does  close 
introspection  reveal  tlic  presence  of  either  voluntary  effort  or  any 
motor  accompaniment,  though  tlie  latter  was  no  doubt  present  un- 
consciously. From  this  involuntary  stage  to  the  closest  voluntary 
absorption  in  minute  observation,  or  in  following  an  intricate  train 
of  thought,  there  are  all  shades  and  degrees  of  this  mental  energy  with 
corresponding  variations  of  voluntary  and  motor  elements.  In  the 
case  of  voluntary  attention,  at  least,  there  is  involved  a  sort  of  selection, 
a  turning  from  some  other  would-be  claimants  to  the  field  of  conscious- 
ness to  this  or  that  in  particular:  and  the  process  of  obervation  or 
thinking  is  more  successful,  other  things  being  equal,  in  proportion 
to  freedom  from  disturbance  by  other  interests  that  might  intrude 
on  the  field  and  so  divide  attention.  Our  bodily  and  mental  mechan- 
ism is  so  arranged  that  operations  which  at  first  reauired  close  and 
divisive  attention  are  relegated  without  our  choice  more  and  more 
to  the  realm  of  habit  and  recede  from  the  field  of  consciousness,  thus 
leaving  energy  free  to  deal  with  the  new  objects  of  voluntary  selection. 
It  is  from  this  mechanism  that  those  phenomena  have  their  origin 
which  we  include  under  the  general  term  of  expectant  attention.  In 
this  class  of  mental  experience  the  selection  of  the  object  of  attention, 
sensation  or  image  or  thought,  is  pre-arranged  either  by  preceding 
voluntary  effort  or  by  concomitant  circumstances.  The  result  is  widely 
divergent  according  as  the  expectation  is  met  or  not  met.  If  on  the 
one  hand  the  object  previously  selected  is  actually  presented,  not  only 
is  the  definition  of  it  clearer  than  it  would  be  if  not  expected  but  it 
also  takes  less  time  than  it  otherwise  would.  According  to  Pillsbury*, 
maximum    quickness    is    reached    when    a    signal    is   given     about     two 

♦Attention,  p.  82. 


seconds  before  the  stimulus  is  applied.  If  on  the  other  hand  some 
other  object  than  the  one  selected  is  presented,  then  the  result  re- 
sembles the  examples  cited  above:  mental  energy  being  engaged  on 
the  selected  object  is  less  free  for  the  unselected  different  object, 
the  definition  is  not  so  clear  and  takes  more  time.  In  fact  the  ob- 
ject actually  presented  is  liable  to  be  distorted  in  consciousness, 
and  actual  illusions  may  ensue  as  to  size  or  intensity  or  other  qualities. 
The  mental  deception  may  even  go  so  far  as  to  replace  the  presented 
object  with  the  expected  one.  This  is  illustrated  in  the  process  of 
reading,  when  an  error  is  overlooked  and  replaced  by  the  correct 
expected  word,  or  missing  an  error  in  proof  reading;  in  the  process 
of  writing  the  hand  sometimes  anticipates  a  future  letter  when  cons- 
ciousness for  the  present  letter  seems  a  blank,  i.  e.,  looking  back  one 
cannot  remember  writing  "ac"  for  "ca."  On  the  other  hand  it  is  just 
the  alertness  of  this  attention  that  conduces  to  rapidity  of  reading, 
as  the  mind  anticipates  words  and  phrases,  even  clauses,  and  sometimes 
from  a  mere  glance  can  forecast  the  meaning  of  an  entire  sentence. 

Like  all  attention  this  expectant  phase  is  accompanied  by  a  certain 
feeling  of  interest  that  grows  with  the  increase  of  expectation  (up  to 
a  certain  point),  and  this  interest  may  pass  over  into  an  experience 
of  pleasure  if  the  object  that  had  been  selected  is  actually  presented, 
a  pleasure  varying  in  degree  with  the  intensity  of  attention  and  interest. 
From  this  point  of  view  we  have  a  rather  close  analogy  here  with 
the  reactions  from  rhythm,  a  point  that  will  be  treated  later  (I,  4,  below). 
As  a  matter  of  fact  all  expectaton  is  a  state  of  growing  tension  that 
may  be  heightened  right  up  to  the  moment  of  relaxation  or  relief. 
There  is  a  point  of  intensity  beyond  which  the  tension  becomes  un- 
pleasant, though  even  then  the  relaxation  may  bring  a  relief  with 
distinct  pleasure  tone.  If  the  object  presented  be  the  one  expected 
there  is  along  with  quick  and  clear  definition  the  pleasure  of  satis- 
faction. If  a  different  object  is  presented  there  will  follow  as  intimated 
above  a  slight  mental  confusion  involving  longer  time  for  clear  defini- 
tion and  with  various  possibilities  as  to  feeling-tone.  The  term  "sur- 
prise" will  serve  in  general  to  designate  the  feeling  attitude,  but  this 
may  take  the  flavor  of  disappointment  with  varying  degrees  of  dis- 
pleasure, from  simple  failure  to  please,  down  to  positive  disgust; 
or  on  the  contrary,  it  may  add  to  the  keenness  of  interest  and  cause 
positive    pleasure. 

Running  parallel  to  the  simple  definition  of  the  object  is  another 
process  that  calls  for  closer  attention  and  is  more  complex,  so  that 
surprise  results  in  greater  demands  on  mental  energy  and  requires 
still  longer  time:  namely,  apperception.  The  relation  of  the  object 
that  occasioned  surprise  to  that  which  was  expected  and  to  the  general 
mental  furnishings  must  be  discerned  and  interpreted  before  there 
is  a  sense  of  satisfaction.  There  is  the  less  difficulty  in  accomplishing 
this  if  some  continuity  has  been  maintained  in  presenting  even  the 
tmexpected  object;  but  if  the  continuity  is  broken,  as  for  instance  by 
inserting  a  foreign  word  or  some  unmeaning  sound  in  a  sentence  where 
a  definite  word  was  confidently  expected,  the  sudden  demand  on 
mental  energy  involved  in  the  difficulty  of  assimilation  begets  dis- 
satisfaction and  unpleasant  confusion,  which  may  be  intensified  if  the 
task  is  actually  impossible,  i.  e.,  if  the  strange  sound  was  inserted 
on  purpose  because  it  had  no  assignable  relation  to  either  what  preceded 
or  what  followed.  This  is  quite  a  frequent  experience  in  listening  to 
public  speakers  when  some  word  or  phrase  is  mumbled  so  that  it  does 
not  present  the  expected  word  but  an  unmeaning  sound;  we  bend 
our  energies  for  the  moment  in  trying  to  define  the  sound  in  order  to 
fit  its  meaning  into  the  context,  and  by  the  time  we  have  succeeded 
the  sentence  is  so  far  advanced  that  we  have  lost  the  thread  of  it 
and  with  it  an  essential  link  in  the  description  or  argument  of  the 
speaker. 


It  is  within  this  range  of  experience  that  expectant  attention  finds 
special  application  to  the  phenomena  of  music,  its  enjoyment  and 
appreciation.  There  is  the  quick  defining  of  the  auditory  sensation 
in  consequence  of  the  fixed  attention,  since  preceding  sensations  have 
served  as  a  signal,  and  there  may  be  under  certain  conditions  partial 
or  complete  illusions;  and  the  former,  at  least  (quick  definition),  is 
contributoiy  to  the  general  effect  produced.  But  the  broad  fact 
that  serves  as  the  background  for  the  whole  series  of  processes  in  music 
is  this:  we  are  so  constituted  physically,  we  that  love  music,  and 
through  our  experience  of  the  facts  of  this  art  have  become  so  habituat- 
ed mentally,  that  certain  sequences  of  sounds  of  a  rhythmic,  melodic 
or  harmonic  nature  beget  definite  expectation  of  other  sounds  to  follow. 
It  may  be  an  interesting  problem  to  consider:  what  are  the  outside 
limits  in  the  sequence  of  sounds  from  which  may  result  the  faintest 
expectation  of  subsequent  sounds;  important  results  might  be  secured. 
In  this  paper  I  aim  to  assume  the  sequences  of  music  as  they  actually 
exist  and  point  out  and  analyze  the  operation  of  expectation  as  it 
enters  into  the  enjoyment  of  the  art. 

It  will  be  worth  while  to  pursue  a  little  further  the  analogy  already 
adduced  above  of  the  spoken  sentence.  A  sequence  of  words  uttered 
in  our  hearing  sets  in  motion  a  series  of  images  that  tend  normally 
or  logically  in  a  given  direction.  At  several  points  we  can  anticipate 
the  next  word,  and  may  be  surprised  by  some  unexpected  word. 
We  hear,  for  instance,  the  words:  "The  distance  between":  at  once 
we  expect  to  hear  the  speaker  give  the  names  of  two  places  and  the 
conjunction  "and"  joins  the  names.  If  the  sentence  proceeds:  "Boston 
and  New  York",  there  is  so  far  satisfied  expectation  and  we  now 
anticipate  hearing  the  speaker  announce  a  number  of  miles  and  expect 
his  next  word  to  be  "is".  But  suppose  in  place  of  any  geographical 
term  the  speaker  substituted  such  words  as  "love  and  hate",  or  "heaven 
and  hell",  at  once  a  rapid  re-adjustment  of  expectation  is  made  neces- 
sary and  we  no  longer  look  for  a  statement  as  to  number  of  miles. 
There  is  a  certain  surprise  in  such  a  turn  and  it  may  not  only  be  of 
pleasurable  interest,  it  may  even  be  heightened  to  the  point  of  ex- 
citing laughter  by  careful  preparation.  It  is  very  much  in  some  such 
way  as  this,  as  will  be  pointed  out  repeatedly,  that  a  sequence  of  tones, 
through  the  relations  of  tonality  or  pitch  or  what  not  that  subsist 
between  them,  leads  to  expectation  of  a  certain  tone  to  follow — for 
instance,  the  tonic  in  a  cadence  after  the  leading  tone  has  been  heard. 
When  the  expected  tone  is  duly  presented,  the  tension  is  relieved 
and  there  is  the  pleasure  of  satisfaction,  a  pleasure  that  can  be  heighten- 
ed by  increasing  the  tension.  If  the  expected  tone  fails  to  be  heard, 
then  there  are  degrees  of  surprise  and  this  maj'^  be  pleasurable  or 
unpleasant  according  to  conditions.  If  in  spite  of  causing  a  surprise 
the  new  tone  can  be  readily  assimilated  to  the  foregoing  material, 
or  if  it  starts  a  new  continuity,  the  relation  of  which  to  the  preceding 
can  be  readily  apprehended,  there  may  be  a  keen  pleasure  added  to 
the  antecedent  interest  of  attention.  But  if  the  new  sound  is  so 
isolated  from  all  foregoing  sequence  that  no  assimilation  seems  possible 
and  no  other  continuity  is  established,  then  even  a  sensuously  alluring 
sound  may  cause  genuine  and  positive  displeasure. 

Since,  as  will  be  shown  later*,  succession  and  repetition  enter  as 
integral  elements  into  the  experience  of  music,  it  follows  that  this 
kind  of  expectation  must  be  constantly  operative  in  the  complete 
experience  of  enjoying  and  appreciating  music. 

*v.  Intro.  Ill,  1  and  2  below. 


— "m — 


III.     GENERAL  GROUNDS  FOR  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF 
EXPECTATION  IN  MUSIC. 

1.  As  already  intimated,  the  role  expectation  plays  in  music  is 
somewhat  different  from  that  of  expectant  attention  in  audition,  a 
subject  that  has  been  so  persistently  investigated.  That  succeeding 
sensations  and  feelings  do  undergo  modification  by  reason  of  it  cannot 
be  questioned,  but  it  is  not  that  phase  of  the  subject  that  I  wish  to 
follow  up,  not  the  modification  of  sensation  leading  in  the  direction 
of  illusion  or  even  of  increased  distinctness,  with  the  consequent 
feelings.  It  is  rather  the  modifications  of  feeling  that  flow  from  a 
sensation  that  may  be  a  correct  representation  of  the  objective  fact 
but  which  is  preceded  by  different  kinds  and  degrees  of  expectation. 
The  sensation  gives  a  correct  report  of  the  sound  as  objectively  pro- 
duced— or  at  least  the  illusory  feature  of  it  is  unimportant  and  second- 
ary for  our  purpose — but  because  of  the  antecedent  expectant  state 
of  mind  the  feeling  of  pleasure  or  other  affective  state  accompanying 
the  sensation  is  markedly  different.  There  is  more  or  less  clear  cons- 
ciousness that  the  sensation  presented  is — -or  is  not — what  one  expected 
to  hear,  and  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  or  even  stronger  pleasure  due  to 
the  expectation  and  not  to  the  sensation  as  such.  The  same  sensation 
in  another  connection  or  in  no  connection  would  have  a  very  different 
feeling  tone.  But  so  much  of  the  material  I  have  to  present  and 
discuss  will  furnish  constantly  repeated  illustrations  of  my  meaning, 
in  so  far  as  it  lacks  clearness,  that  I  do  not  need  to  anticipate  at  this 
point. 

Other  branches  of  art  are  subject  to  this  same  effect  of  expectation 
in  greater  or  less  degree.  But  the  one  feature  common  to  those  most 
affected  by  it  is  that  of  motion  or  succession.  Thus  poetry  (especially 
when  recited),  drama,  oratory,  dancing,  fiction,  all  tend  to  excite 
anticipation  in  varying  degrees  and  various  ways,  and  thereby  modifj' 
the  attendant  or  succeeding  emotional  states.  In  dancing,  for  instance, 
a  consecutive  flow  of  movement  satisfies  expectation,  while  a  sudden 
change  or  interruption  is  apt  to  excite  surprise.  In  fiction  one  main 
feature  of  the  writer's  art  is  the  leading  up  to,  preparing  for,  a  climax 
or  d^noument;  i.  e.,  he  builds  up  expectation  to  the  point  where 
the  satisfaction  or  surprise  experienced  shall  be  at  a  maximum  and  give 
the  highest  pleasure.  Similar  things  may  be  said  of  the  other  arts 
above  mentioned,  and  it  is  true  of  all  of  them  that  the  very  fact 
of  motion,  succession,  invites  and  even  forces  the  reader  or  listener 
or  spectator  (whichever  it  may  be)  to  make  a  more  or  less  definite 
forecast  of  the  word  or  motion  or  personal  quality  or  event  that  is 
to  follow.  And  in  all  these  cases  the  mere  meeting  of  the  expectation 
in  all  its  details  affords  pleasure  of  a  kind.  It  may  be  no  more  than 
the  pleasure  of  gratified  prophetism,  that  finds  its  expression  in  common 
life  in  the  "I  told  you  so"  of  the  gossip.  But  it  may  be  also  the  pleas- 
ure of  satisfaction  in  a  more  aesthetic  phase  of  the  art;  in  the  con- 
sistent portrayal  of  a  character  in  fiction,  the  faithfulness  to  real  life 
in  describing  emotion  or  conduct  or  conditions,  or  many  another 
that  might  be  adduced.  In  the  dance  there  may  be  satisfaction  in 
carefully  and  consistently  represented  symbolism,  meeting  the  acme 
of  expectation.  In  poetry  we  may  enjoy  the  consistent  use  of  appro- 
priate diction,  maintaining  of  rhythm  and  other  metric  features, 
handling  of  rhetorical  figures — especially  an  elaborate  simile  such  as 
Goethe  has,  for  example,  at  the  beginning  of  Canto  VII  of  his  "Her- 
mann," or  De  Musset  in  "Nuit  de  Mai"  on  the  pelican.  But  great  as 
is  the  aesthetic  pleasure  arising  out  of  even  a  heightening  of  expecta- 
tion, a  far  greater  degree  of  enjoyment  may  at  times  be  attained  by 
a  carefully  planned  surprise,  the  appropriateness  and  artistic  skill 
of  which  is  recognized  and  approved.     Especially  is  it   true  that  sur- 


prise  conduces  to  the  effects  called  humorous,  witty,  comic;  exact 
following  of  expectation  here  would  result  in  boredom  and  somnolence 
of  the  audience. 

It  may  even  be  contended  that  motion  or  succession  is  even  more 
essential  to  music  than  to  any  other  of  the  arts.  In  speech  a  single 
word,  a  sound  not  followed  by  another,  leaves  a  perfectly  clear  image 
or  meaning  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  a  pose  in  dancing  is  apprehended 
at  a  glance  and  has  a  beauty  and  meaning  of  its  own  quite  apart 
from  any  succeeding  pose  or  movement.  But  a  single  tone,  or  even 
two  simultaneous  tones  or  a  chord,  have  no  suggestion  or  meaning  in 
themselves;  it  is  only  when  the  tone  is  followed  by  one  higher  or 
lower,  or  even  at  the  same  pitch,  or  when  the  interval  or  chord  is 
succeeded  by  another,  that  we  have  the  beginning  of  music  as  some- 
thing with  meaning.  And  this  succession  must  be  one  in  time,  not  so 
spread  out  in  space  that  a  considerable  span  of  it  can  be  apprehended 
at  a  single  glance.  There  is  succession  in  design,  but  the  purpose  of 
the  very  succession  itself  is  that  the  mental  grasp  should  include  such 
a  span,  then  the  succession  may  be  observed  as  an  afterthought  in 
the  analysis  of  the  pleasurable  effect.  In  the  case  of  poetry  and  the 
like  one  fragmentary  meaning  is  succeeded  in  time  by  others  and 
the  mind  is  busy  constructing  and  apprehending  the  relations  of  the 
succeeding  images;  in  music,  on  the  other  hand,  there  must  be  a 
succession  of  sounds  before  even  a  fragment  of  musical  meaning  emerges 
that    can   be   joined    to    subsequent   fragments. 

2.     But   music   possesses   one   point   of   great   advantage   over   a'' 
the  other  arts — with  the  possible  exception  of  dancing-;-in  this  matt, 
of  expectation  in  its  unique  position  as  regards  repetition.     The  oth. 
arts  allow  of  repetition   (dancing  particularly),  but  music  calls  for  u, 
demands   it;    it   enters   into   music   as   an    integral   factor.     It   will   be 
instructive  to  glance  at  some  of  the  possibilities  of  repetition  in  poetry. 
The  Hebrew  poet  regarded  with  great  satisfaction  a  thought  identical 
in  substance  with  the  preceding  line  but  different  in  expression;   this 
kind   of   parallelism   is   of   the   very   essence   of   his  poetry.    In  rnodern 
and    occidental   poetry   one   of    the   commonest   fonns   of   repetition   is 
the  recurrence  of  a  refrain  at  regular  intervals  or  at  the  end  of  a  stanza, 
sometimes     verbatim,     sometimes     with     variations.     Rosetti's     "Lady 
Helen"    and   many    early    and    later   ballads   furnish    striking    examples 
of  this  device.     After  the  first  repetition   the  mind   is  forced   into  the 
attitude  of  expectation  on   the  approach  of  the  corresponding   part  o*" 
the  next  stanza  and  pleasure  is  experienced  in  different  degrees  accc 
ing    to   varying   exactness   of   repetition   of   the   refrain.     Another 
quent   device   is   the   repetition   of   the   phraseology   of   one   line    i 
subsequent  line  for  the    purpose  of  special  emphasis  on  the  diffe.. 
ending  of  the  second  line.     Tennj'son  resorts  to  this    quite    frequent 
in  the  "In  Memoriam,"  several  fine  examples  occurring  in  the  prologut 
He    also   repeats   in   one   instance   two   entire   lines   verbatim;    such   a 
repetition,  however,  stands  alone   (as  far  as  I  recollect)   in  his  entire 
poetical  output.     A  third  use  of  repetition  in  poetry — except  in  that 
of   the  vers   libre   type — is   in   the   rhythm,   and   this  is   where   poetry- 
makes  its  nearest  approach  to  music.     In  his  "In  Memoriam"  Tennyson 
maintains    the   peculiar   four-line   iambic    tertrameter   stanza   unaltered 
to   the   end,   with   occasional   breaks   in    the   flow   of   a   line.     Spencer 
adheres  closely   to  the  pattern  set  in   the  first  stanza  of   his   "Faery 
Queen"  all  the  way  through  the  long  poem.     Dante  repeats  through 
the  three  books  of  his   "Divine   Comedy"   lines  of   the  same  general 
rhythm,    with    the    three    alternating   rhymes.     The    psychological    ex- 
planation  of   this   phenomenon    will    be   discussed   below    (I.    7).     Now 
while  all  these  kinds  of  repetition  are  found  in  poetry  and  constitute 
one  important  source  of   the  enjoyment  it  furnishes,   there  is  in   one 
respect  a  very  marked  iJiffercnce  in  music — e\-en  more  marked  ab  over 


against  drama,  oi-atory  or  fiction.  When  an  author  has  expressed  his 
fundamental  thought  in  fitting  language  he  not  only  is  not  expected 
to  repeat  it  at  once  in  the  very  same  language  but  he  would  be  severely 
criticized  for  so  doing.  Except  in  rare  cases,  a  poet  is  not  expected 
to  repeat  at  all  a  thought  once  uttered,  much  less  to  use  a  beautiful  simile 
or  metaphor  repeatedly  in  the  same  poems — or  even  in  different  poems. 
Even  when  a  poet  falls  into  the  mannerism  of  using  certain  mellifluous 
or  high-sounding  words — as  Swinburne  overdoes  "flowers"  in  his  shorter 
poems;  Shelley,  "crystalline"  and  the  rhyme  "mountain,  fountain"; 
Hugo  "les  flots;"  Schiller  "ungliickselig"  and  "furchterlich" — they  pall 
on  the  poetic  appetite,  the  words  lose  their  force.  In  music,  on  the 
contrarjs  the  significant  thing  is  that  the  composer  having  stated  his 
subject  may,  or  even  in  some  cases  must,  state  it  again.  The  repetition 
may  not  be  exact  (v.  below,  a.),  though  in  many  cases  it  is.  And 
even  if  he  does  not  repeat  it  at  once  he  is  sure  to  do  so  a  number 
of  times  before  the  conclusion  of  the  piece.  And  if  he  has  a  specially 
beautiful  chord  or  sequence  or  melodic  phrase  (comparable  to  a  beauti- 
ful simile  or  metaphor)  he  is  expected  to  repeat  it  and  would  fail  of 
deeply  aflfecting  his  audience  if  he  passed  on  to  ever  new  material  and 
never  came  back.  Nor  is  it  lack  of  invention  that  leads  to  this  feature 
of  composition ;  there  is  hardly  any  limit  to  the  variety  of  rhythmic, 
melodic,  figured  and  harmonic  material  at  the  disposal  of  the  com- 
poser of  music,  and  in  some  of  the  modernist  composers  of  music 
there  seems  almost  to  be  a  rivalry  to  see  which  shall  have  the  greatest 
variety  and  least  continuity  or  repetition.  It  will  take  time  to  decide 
whether  repetition  or  constant  variety  will  win  out  in  the  end;  at 
present,  however,  repetition  has  the  field  and  a  back-ground  of  count- 
less  generations   of    music-lovers. 

a.  But  there  must  be  a  natural  limit  somewhere  to  repetition, 
and  it  is  found  in  the  span  of  interest,  which  exhibits  a  certain  degree 
of  periodicity  analogous  to  the  rhythm  of  attention.  A  child  will  re- 
peat an  interesting  operation  fifty  times  or  more  and  then  stop  as 
suddenl3-  as  it  began,  interest  being  transferred  to  something  else. 
But  even  the  fifty  will  not  be  simple  exact  repetitions;  there  will  be 
some  sort  of  variation  at  intervals  that  are  approximately  equal,  say 
from  twelve  to  fifteen.  The  span  of  interest  that  appears  in*  these 
experiments  appears  also  in  musical  repetition.  This  is  demanded 
as  a  part  of  the  treatment  or  development  of  a  thought  by  the  com- 
poser, but  too  frequent  repetition  or  too  little  varied  will  lessen  and 
finally  kill  interest.  A  fine  example  of  repetition  nearly  to  the  limit 
yet  ending  with  intense  interest  is  found  in  the  Andante  of  Beethoven's 
Symphony,  No.  V;  the  simple  figured  chord  1-3-5  followed  by  a  short 
scale  passage  5-4-3  is  repeated  with  its  harmony  6  times  with  variations, 
and  then  a  new  variation  introduced  in  melodic  and  harmonic  treat- 
ment as  a  last  instance.  The  passage  will  be  discussed  later  (III.  7). 
It  is  from  this  point  of  view  that  we  must  interpret  the  enthusiasm 
shown  at  different  times  for  sets  of  variations  of  a  theme  or  air;  such 
a  composition  is  fundamentally  an  effort  to  combine  the  pleasure  of 
repetition  with  the  interest  of  variety.'  It  becomes  possible  to  multiply 
the  variations  almost  indefinitely,  some  composers  having  gone  into 
the  thirties.  While  some  of  these  are  mainly  formal  in  their  character, 
others  are  elaborated  into  actual  works  of  art,  for  instance  Beethoven's 
"Thirty-three  Variations"  on  a  Waltz  by  Diabelli.  The  acquaintance 
with  the  theme  on  which  variations  are  written  constitutes  the  basis 
of  expectation  of  a  new  kind  for  each  succeeding  variation  and  a  ready 
means  of  preparing  new  pleasures  of  surprise  in  each.  Now  there  is 
nothing  parallel  to  this  in  poetry  or  drama  (unless  Browning's  "The 
Ring  and  the  Book"  is  an  example);  and  the  nearest  approach  to  it 
in  any  art  is  in  aesthetic  dancing.  In  this  the  same  figures  and 
poses  may  be  and  must  be  repeated  and  it  is  a   debatable  question 


whether  there  is  any  limit  to  the  interest  in  this  kind  of  repetition; 
though  there  is  a  decided  limit  in  the  capacity  of  the  human  frame  to 
.  the  variations  that  could  be  developed  on  a  central  succession  of  poses, 
motions,  figures  and  groupings,     (v.  below  I.  7). 

b.  It  is  an  interesting  and  important  question  at  this  point  why 
in  the  dance  and  in  music  so  much  of  repetition  is  possible,  while 
in  poetry  and  the  drama  it  is  impossible.  The  answer  lies  in  the 
difference  of  mental  appeal  of  the  two  groups.  In  both  poetry  and  the 
drama  (and  the  same  may  be  said  of  oratory  and  fiction)  the  material 
consists  of  words  and  sentences  conveying  definite  intellectual  images 
and  judgments  to  which  the  reaction  must  necessarily  be  intellectual 
in  its  character.  This  must  not  be  taken  to  intimate  that  there  is 
no  appeal  to  the  feelings  in  those  arts.  There  is,  often  consciously, 
and  at  tiines  it  becomes  absorbing  and  powerful.  Such  a  tragedy 
as  Hamlet  or  Lear,  rousing  or  tender  lyrics,  the  eloquence  of  a  De- 
mosthenes, stir  the  emotions  as  intensely  as  any  music  can;  in  fact, 
it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  the  emotions  are  ever  so  profoundly 
excited  by  music  alone — in  its  modern  western  form  at  least— as  by 
the  higher  forms  of  these  allied  arts.  The  difference  lies  in  the  direct 
appeal  and  the  means  employed.  Poetry,  drama  and  the  others, 
in  so  far  as  they  stir  the  emotions,  do  so  by  bringing  images  of  real 
life  or  imagination  vividly  before  the  audience  or  reader,  creating  a 
convincing  aesthetic  illusion.  The  direct  appeal  is  intellectual  and 
must  be  successful  in  securing  a  reaction  in  kind,  i.  e.,  the  material 
must  be  apprehended,  in  order  to  succeed  in  rousing  the  feelings.  If 
the  sentences  uttered  are  not  understood  there  is  no  emotional  response, 
or  it  is  negligible.  Now  in  music  there  is  no  direct  appeal  to  the 
intellectual  activity.  In  so  far  as  intellectual  reactions  are  released 
by  music  they  are  secondary  and  incidental,  by-products,  so  to  speak, 
and  may  not  be  alike  for  any  two  persons  hearing  the  same  music 
and  even  deepl}'  moved  by  it.  It  is  not  intended  that  such  reactions 
should  be  alike,  whereas  in  the  other  case  they  must  be,  or  there  is 
no  affective  response.  The  means  employed  in  music  to  elicit  in- 
tellectual reactions  are  such  special  devices  as  certain  kinds  of  repeti- 
tion, modulation  and  especially  form.  The  direct  appeal  is  to  the 
feelings,  it  may  be  nothing  more  than  sensuous  delight  over  sweet 
sounds  or  the  higher  more  complex  emotions  growing  out  of  aesthetic 
enjoyment  and  approval.  The  end  in  view  with  drama  or  fiction 
may  indeed  be  to  stir  the  emotions,  at  least  the  aesthetic  approval, 
but  the  means  used  are  intellectual  in  their  nature.  Now  when  an 
image  or  judgment  has  been  presented  to  the  audience  or  reader, 
the  very  nature  of  intellectual  activity  demands  that  other  images 
and  judgments  be  presented,  and  then  the  mind  proceeds  to  assimilate, 
discriminate,  compare  and  otherwise  apperceive  the  new  material. 
There  must  be,  in  brief,  di.scursive  intellection,  the  indispensable  method 
of  grasping  a  unity  in  all  these  arts.  Now  while  in  the  higher  forms 
of  music  sucli  intellection  is  not  ruled  out — in  fact,  becomes  necessary 
for  liighest  aesthetic  appreciation  and  enjoyment — the  immediate 
appeal  and  effect  is  of  the  affective  type,  pleasure  of  one  kind  or  anoth- 
er; and  it  is  in  the  very  nature  of  simple  pleasure  of  this  kind  to 
invite  and  enjoy  repetition.  "Do  it  again,"  the  child  keeps  on  saying, 
and  the  audience  demands  an  encore,  this  being  enjoyed  even  if  the 
same  selection  is  rendered  note  for  note.  The  pleasure  can  be  re- 
peated a  certain  number  of  times  without  palling.  But  if  a  melody 
or  phrase  that  is  recognized  as  one  of  transcendent  beauty  haunts 
the  Tuind  persistently  long  enough  it  ceases  to  please,  or  at  least  the 
usual  enjoyment  is  for  the  time  in  abeyance.  And  the  utter  boredom 
of  airs  from  "Trovatore"  or  "Faust"  on  hand-organs  or  other  mechanic- 
al contrivances  is  a  familiar  phenomenon  resulting  from  too  frequent 
repetition,   j  Mutatis    mutandis    the    same    thing    may    be    said    of    the 


aestliPtii"  dance;  althougli  there  is  no  mechanical  contrivance — unless 
it  is  the  picture  screen — that  can  offend  by  such  tiresome  reiteration. 
But  in  the  dance  itself  the  pleasure  afforded  by  the  beautiful  rhythmic 
motions  is  the  direct  effect  and  it  is  possible  to  repeat  the  same  motions 
a  number  of  times  without  causing  the  kind  of  boredoifi  the  audience 
of  a  drama  would  suffer  if  an  entire  scene,  or  even  portions  of  it, 
were  presented  again  before  the  close  of  the  performance,  or  a  reader 
of  poetry  if  the  author  repeated  a  beautiful  stanza  or  simile  verbatim. 
We  do  come  back  to  a  beautiful  poem  or  drama  with  interest  and  a 
certain  kind  of  expectation  then  emerges  as  a  direct  result.  The 
greater  the  indirect  appeal  of  the  work  to  the  emotions  the  more 
repetition  it  will  stand. 

c.  The  suggestion  may  be  offered  even  as  an  objection,  that 
repetition  is  a  phenomenon  of  later  growth,  a  consequence  of  higher 
development  of  the  art  of  music.  The  answer  is  that  in  all  the  folk- 
songs of  all  nationalities  repetition  is  omni-present.  Even  if  a  complete 
song  consist  of  a  melody  in  which  new  material  is  being  constantly 
presented,  it  is  bound  to  have  an  indefinite  number  of  verses  each  of 
which  repeats  the  melody  exactly  or  with  slight  changes  of  ornamenta- 
tion or  the  like.  And  going  much  farther  back  in  the  development  of 
the  art,  to  the  music  of  the  most  primitive  peoples  known,  the  music 
consists  of  little  more  than  melodic  phrases — -usually  in  intervals  of 
the  triad — howled  out  over  and  over  again  with  evident  delight.  All 
of  which  leads  inevitably  to  the  conclusion  that  repetition  is  basic 
and  not  incidental,  a  psychological  necessity  as  postulate  for  all  later 
development.  In  fact,  but  for  this  peculiarity  in  the  very  foundations 
of  music  all  subsequent  development  must  certainly  have  taken  a 
wholly  different  direction.  For  repetition  is  the  basis  for  all  that 
side  of  musical  art  known  as  form.  As  this  point  will  be  fully  treated 
vmder  the  heading  of  "Form"  (IV.  1)  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  dwell 
on  it  here. 

3.  There  is  one  universal  fact  of  mental  life  that  is  of  the  utmost 
importance  as  a  basis  of  expectation,  that  is  habit.  As  it  concerns 
us  here  I  may  confine  discussion  of  it  to  two  phases. 

a.  First,  habit  as  subconscious  or  reflex.  Of  this  type  are  the 
reactions  of  our  nervous  system  to  rhythm,  to  melodic  intervals,  to 
volume  and  rapidity  of  sounds  articulate  or  inarticulate,  to  absolute 
pitch,  in  the  same  class  with  the  instinctive  reactions  of  animals 
to  a  great  variety  of  stimuli.  Even  before  these  responses  emerge 
above  the  threshold  of  consciousness  they  are  effective  in  contributing 
to  the  action  of  music  in  giving  pleasure;  but  there  must  be  some 
antecedent  experience  of  that  pleasure  before  such  habit  can  become 
a  basis  of  expectation  with  the  new  effects  in  producing  pleasure  to 
which  it  leads.  A  fuller  discussion  of  some  of  these  points  will  be 
undertaken  later  (I.  2;  II.  1,  and  2,  and  6,  c). 

b.  Second,  habit  as  a  result  of  conscious  experience  and  voluntary 
activity.  As  applied  to  music  this  will  manifestly  lead  to  great  variety 
in  expectation.  If  the  habit  is  the  outgrowth  of  long-continued  ex- 
perience, e.  g.,  of  hearing  of  a  certain  form  of  scale  from  childhood, 
the  expectation  will  follow  along  the  lines  of  that  experience,  any  tone 
lying  outside  of  that  scale  would  occasion  a  shock  of  surprise.  To 
cite  another  example,  if  the  harmony  actually  heard  from  childhood 
has  been  of  the  simplest,  say  of  the  fifth  below  the  melody  (v.  Ill,  1, 
below),  the  appearance  of  the  third  is  likely  to  give  a  shock.  Further 
applications  in  detail  will  follow  later. 

But  in  addition  to  the  general  effect  of  habit  long  established 
there  is  also  what  I  may  term  incipient  habit.  By  this  I  mean  the  state 
of  mind  induced  at  the  beginning  of  a  piece  of  music  when  the  rhythm, 
melody  and  harmony  (if  it  is  modem  enough),  have  so  far  advanced, 
say  three  or  four  bars,  as  to  impress  a  sort  of  musical  pattern  on  the 


mind  of  the  listener  so  that  succeeding  appearances  of  the  pattern 
liave  an  aspect  of  familiarity.  A  further  stage  of  this  incipient  habit 
is  reached  when  a  listener  begins  to  get  accustomed  to  the  language, 
the  idiom,  or  even  the  mannerisms  of  a  given  composer.  E.xpectation 
in  listening  to  his  works  takes  more  definite  shape  in  proportion  to 
familiarity  with  his  ways.  When  it  forecasts  with  considerable  exact- 
ness the  line  of  development  in  a  new  piece,  the  treatment  of  a  new 
subject,  then  the  interest  and  pleasure  is  lessened;  while  the  composer 
who  can  keep  in  advance  of  expectation  without  too  severe  shocks 
of  surprise,  amounting  to  a  mannerism  of  a  different  kind,  will  be  able 
(other  things  being  equal)  to  maintain  interest  and  satisfaction.  The 
c|uestion  how  far  such  habit  can  be  voluntarily  modified  so  as  to 
result  in  the  acceptance  of  bizarre,  not  to  say  abnormal,  combinations, 
will  be  raised  at  a  later  stage  (III,  5  below). 

It  remains  to  indicate  briefly  some  possible  applications  of  this 
form  of  habit  in  the  kindred  arts.  The  particular  form  of  poetic  or 
dramatic  art  to  which  one  has  grown  accustomed,  establishes  the  habit 
of  mind  and  resulting  attitude  toward  all  new  experiments.  One  who 
for  this  reason  demands  accurate  rhythm  and  rhyme  in  poetry  stumbles 
over  tlie  apparent  lawlessness  of  the  vers  litre  style,  or  even  at  some 
of  the  uncouth  lines  or  rhymes  uf  a  Browning;  such  treatment  runs 
seriously  counter  to  expectation.  Temperament  in  the  reader  has 
its  share  in  this  result.  And  it  is  hardly  to  be  doubted  that  persistent 
voluntary  effort  might  lead  to  an  incipient  and  finally  well-established 
habit  in  consequence  of  which  the  strangeness  disappears  and  one 
experiences  actual  pleasure  in  that  which  was  formerly  regarded  not 
as  poetry,  but  rather  dull  prose  chopped  into  arbitrary  lengths.  An- 
alogous situations  are  frequent  in  music  and   in   the  other  arts. 

c.  Finally  it  should  be  noted  that  all  these  conditions  growing 
out  of  habit  are  equally  valid  facts  for  any  and  all  systems  of  music, 
whether  pentatonic,  whole  tone,  modal  or  diatonic,  whether  harmonized 
or  unharmonized,  primitive  or  most  highly  developed  modern.  The 
facts  and  phenomena  indicated  are  not  peculiar  to  music  as  an  art 
but  are  characteristic  of  mental  activity  generally  as  manifested  under 
the  particular  conditions  prevailing  in   this  and   the  kindred  arts. 


EXPECTATION 

I.     EXPECTATION  AS  IT  APPEARS  IN  RHYTHM 

1.  The  subject  of  rhythm  has  been  so  extensively  and  thoroughly 
investigated  by  psychologists,  although  without  any  direct  bearing 
on  the  subject  of  the  present  paper,  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  do  more 
than  present  a  somewhat  sketchy  account  of  its  general  characteristics 
as  preliminary  to  the  special  study  in  hand.  Rhythm,  as  it  is  in- 
volved in  music,  is  in  its  essence  a  grouping  of  discrete  units  of  time 
into  larger  units.  The  individual  units,  as  well  as  the  groups,  are 
theoretically  equal  respectively  to  each  other;  but  not  only  are  the 
groups  sometimes  lengthened  or  shortened  in  actual  experience,  even 
the  smaller  units,  as  proven  by  mechanical  time  measurements,  of 
mental  grouping,  vary  in  length.  Within  the  limits  of  a  group  there 
is  alternating  retardation  and  acceleration,  especially  if  the  span  be 
somewhat  long.  As  the  point  that  divides  one  group  from  the  next 
is  approached,  the  units  tend  to  be  slightly  accelerated.  After  that 
point  is  passed,  they  are  slightly  retarded.  In  both  cases  they  remain 
equal  for  subjective  experience.  Nor  is  this  the  only  difference  between 
rhythm  as  regarded  subjectively  and  objectively.  All  the  discrete 
units  of  a  mechanically  equal  time  series  may  be  marked  by  equal 
stress,  so  that  objectively  there  is  no  grouping;  and  yet  subjectively 
these  can  be  grouped  in  a  variety  of  ways:  by  two,  or  three,  four  or 
even  five,  and  the  rhythm  in  each  case  can  be  steadily  maintained 
in  thought  or  changed  at  will  from  one  grouping  to  another. 

But  an  experiment  of  this  kind  brings  out  the  great  range  of 
difference  between  individual  subjects  in  respect  to  capacity  for  group- 
ing. At  one  extreme  is  the  subject  who  falls  into  any  desired  rhythm 
by  a  sort  of  instinct,  whose  regularity  and  steadiness  can  be  counted 
on;  who  can  shift  the  grouping  readily;  who  can  keep  several  group- 
ings going  simultaneously,  like  two  and  three  and  four  against  each 
other.  At  the  other  extreme  is  the  subject  who  cannot  even  march 
in  time  with  a  company  with  all  the  assistance  that  comes  from  the 
suggestion  of  others  keeping  step,  who  is  apt  to  drop  out  a  beat  or 
two  from  a  perfectly  simple  and  regular  rhythm  all  unconsciously 
and  who  cannot  even  distinguish  an  objective  grouping  that  is  plainly 
rhythmical  and  one  that  is  not.  And  between  these  two  extremes 
there  are  all  degrees.  This  is  due  in  part,  at  least,  to  the  fact  that 
the  rhythmic  experience  is  by  no  means  a  simple  one;  indeed,  it  is  a 
highly  complex  mental  fact,  and  into  it  enter  not  only  perceptive  and 
motor  elements,  but  time  sense  and  the  alternation  of  tension  and 
relaxation.  Subjects  who  are  keenly  perceptive  may  be  lacking  in 
time  sense  or  vice  versa,  and  of  these  various  elements  there  can  be 
all  kinds  of  combinations  of  varying  degrees  and  for  each  combination 
there  is  a  corresponding  difference  in  the  rhythmic  experience.  It 
follows  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  the  degree  to  which  expectation 
as  begotten  of  rhythm  enters  into  the  enjoyment  and  appreciation 
of  music  will  depend  very  largely  on  the  particular  combination  of 
the  several  elements  that  happen  to  be  represented.  One  deficient 
in  time  sense  may,  indeed,  be  susceptible  to  the  sensuous  appeal  of 
interval  or  timber  or  harmony,   but   he   would   be   at  a  decided   dis- 


The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


advantage  in  the  matter  of  anticipation  based  on  rhythmic  grouping. 
Either  extreme  may  be  regarded  as  to  a  certain  extent  abnormal, 
and  is  in  reaHty  rather  uncommon  so  that  it  occasions  remark.  The 
present  discussion  needs  only  to  consider  the  fairly  normal  listener 
to  music,  who  is  pretty  well  balanced  in  possession  of  time  sense 
and  perceptive  and  motor  elements. 

One  factor  that  has  a  larger  share  in  the  interest  of  rhythm  than 
it  is  usually  credited  with  is  more  truly  intellectual  in  its  appeal, 
and  is  closely  akin  to  the  operation  involved  in  the  psychological 
experience  of  number.  When  a  child  attains  to  the  ability  to  combine 
mentally  several  discrete  things  as  units  in  a  larger  unity,  which  is 
of  the  very  essence  of  number,  there  is  created  for  it  a  fresh  interest. 
It  enjoys  the  effort  to  extend  the  range  or  span  of  the  larger  unity 
until  hundreds  are  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the  child  boldly  ventures 
upon  thousands  and  millions.  While  unable,  of  course,  to  grasp  these 
larger  numbers  apperceptively,  it  has  a  certain  sense  of  power  in 
embracing  more  and  more  in  the  larger  unity  that  has  a  striking 
attraction  for  the  child  mind.  The  primitive  man,  even  before  he  had 
advanced  to  a  grasp  of  any  but  the  smallest  group-units  in  number, 
found  a  corresponding  intellectual  interest  in  rhythm,  in  which  there 
is  a  definite  grouping.  This  was  an  important  factor  in  leading  to 
the  fuller  development  of  rhythm  as  an  isolated  experience  independent- 
ly of  other  musical  elements.  With  us  the  intellectual  interest  is 
abundantly  supplied  from  other  sources,  and  that  fact,  together  with 
the  greater  interest  developed  in  melody,  especially  in  conjunction  with 
harmony  and  form,  has  led  to  a  comparative  neglect  of  rhythm  as 
a  separate  exercise  and  means  of  enjoyment. 

2.  Although  the  claim  might  be  set  up  on  plausible  reasoning 
that  rhythm  in  its  isolation  is  not  entitled  to  the  name  of  music, 
that  term  being  reserved  to  designate  the  combined  product  of  rhythm 
with  melody,  or  with  that  and  hannony,  it  is  nevertheless  that  one 
of  the  three  elements  that  came  earliest  to  some  degree  of  develop- 
ment. And  this  development  was  quite  advanced  before  melody  was 
consciously  combined  with  it  in  primitive  singing.  Doubtless  the 
beginnings  of  melody  antedated  the  full  development  of  rhythni, 
(v.  II,  I,  below),  but  even  before  that  the  play  instinct  led  to  activities 
with  the  two  feet  and  two  hands  that  resulted  soon  in  the  characteristic 
reactions  of  rhythm.  And  no  other  element  of  music  is  so  distinct 
in  its  somatic  reaction  as  this.  The  pleasure  primitive  man  experienced 
in  this  exercise  led  to  repetition  and  cultivation  of  it  even  before 
there  was  any  conscious  artistic  impulse.  Some  degree  of  proficiency 
in  it  had  been  acquired  as  a  prerequisite  to  its  use  in  obedience  to 
aesthetic  longings.  It  was  also  the  same  pleasure  that  led  to  its 
continued  exercise  independently  of  melody  even  after  the  latter 
began  its  course.  There  is  no  question  as  to  the  correctness  of  the 
intimation  by  Mr.  Patterson*  that  rhythm,  as  the  savages  of  today, 
and  even  of  early  times,  know  it,  is  to  us  in  our  civilized  sophistication 
largely  a  lost  art.  The  rhythmic  patterns  set  up  by  a  drum  corps  on 
a  city  comer  are  far  more  simple  and  regular  than  some  that  are 
found  in  actual  music,  or  are  practiced  by  tribes  that  approximate 
primitive  man  in  some  of  their  activities. 

In  the  passage  above  referred  to,  attention  is  called  to  the  ease 
with  which  the  American  Indian  falls  into  syncopated  rhythms  where 
three-beat  groups  are  pitted  against  two-beat  or  four-beat.  Any  piano 
teacher  can  testify  to  the  difficulty  involved  in  trying  to  train  a  pupil 
to  play  a  melody  that  proceeds  by  twos  against  a  base  figure  that 
proceeds  by  threes,   much  more  when   the  melody  doubles  the  speed. 

♦The  Rhythm  of  Prose,  W.  M.  Patterson,  pp.  XIX  and  6-7. 


Rhythm 3 

"Primitive  rhythms,"  a  discussion  by  John  Comfort  Fillmore,*  speaks 
of  the  rich  variety  and  complexity  of  rhy  thm  in  the  music  of  the 
Omaha  Indians.  Mr.  Fillmore  has  told  in  my  hearing  of  an  observa- 
tion made  on  a  sort  of  drum  corps  of  Negroes  from  D  ahomey  in  Africa. 
Five  men  were  pounding  out  a  rhythm  with  clubs,  each  one  in  a 
different  grouping,  with  a  resultant  that  might  be  indicated  by  the 
following   notation: 


(4)  (3)       (t)       (3)  (4) 


It  took  careful  listening  to  assign  to  each  club  its  exact  grouping. 
He  finally  arrived  at  the  following  solution:    A  big  club  with  one  heavy 

pound  united  the  whole  series,  represented   above   by    ~P       ;  another 

(8)  ^  (3) 

divided  that  in  two     J  another  into  three    J  another  into  four 

(4) 


^   '  The  time  on  tlie  grouping 


J  another  into  three    J  a 

"^  (5)  '^ 

_n  and    the    last   into  five  ^J 

into  five  has  to  be  slightly  re-adjusted  to  make  the  five  beats  equal  in 
length,  but  with  that  allowance  the  above  rhythm  is  heard.  With  some 
practice  I  have  worked  it  out  with  the  five  fingers  of  the  right  hand,  both 
with  and  without  the  readjustment;  there  is  some  little  difference  but  the 
freer  treatment  of  the  syncopation  gives  a  more  pleasing  effect.  A  city 
drum  corps  would  find  that  method  of  evoking  a  rhythmic  pattern  exceed- 
ingly difficult;  fives  against  fours  and  threes  all  given  simultaneously,  seems 
beyond  the  limits  of  possibility.  But  for  those  Dahomey  Negroes 
such  complicated  co-operation,  each  one  going  his  own  more  or  less 
independent  way,  was  so  easy  that  they  laughed  while  keeping  it 
up  with  regularity  and  evident  enjoyment.  In  the  same  spirit  the 
Dravidians  of  India  beat  out  as  a  special  dance  a  rhythm  that  has 
seven  approximately  equal  beats  in  each  larger  group  This  rhythm 
is  sustained  by  the  participants  until  they  are  wrought  up  to  a  high 
pitch  of  excitement.  The  excitement  amounting  almost  to  frenzy 
often  observed  in  religious  gatherings  of  the  untutored,  or  others  not 
wonted  to  the  inhibitions  of  civilized  life,  is  promoted  if  not  largely 
caused  by  the  swaying,  clapping,  stamping  and  other  rhythmic  exer- 
cises—including singing— that  are  indulged  in  by  the  devout. 

3.  More  or  less  discussion  has  gathered  about  the  question  as 
to  the  original  rhythm  and  time  used  in  music,  and  also  to  the  origin 
of  the  various  rhythms.  Both  questions  seem  to  find  a  satisfying 
answer  in  two  general  facts.  The  fundamental  fact  is  that  of  man's 
physical  constitution,  namely,  that  he  possesses  limbs  symmetrically 
by  pairs,  two  arms  and  hands  and  two  legs  (to  say  nothing  of  ears, 
eyes,  lips,  nostrils,  etc.)  Now  a  quadruped  in  its  locomotion,  whether 
deliberate  or  hasty,  handles  the  legs  in  a  sort  of  rhythm — sometimes 
quite  pronounced.  And  so  man  for  his  purposes  of  locomotion  fell 
by  necessity  into  a  grouping  by  twos.  And  as  the  legs  move  back 
and  forth  in  propulsion,  so  also  the  arms  swing  at  the  side  to  the  same 
rhythm  by  way  of  balancing  the  body,  while  at  the  same  time  they 
are  available  for  other  movements  in  which  alternation  made  the 
same    grouping.     It    might    seem    strange,    since    rhythm    and    number 

*Cong.  Rep.  Anthrop..  1893.  p.  172;  quoted  by  Patterson  I.  c. 


The  Role  of  fexPECTATioN  in  Music 


are  so  closely  akin  in  their  psychological  nature,  that  two  and  its 
powers  did  not  become  the  base  of  further  mathematical  calculations  as 
man's  grasp  of  number  units  enlarged  its  span.  The  simple  explanation 
is  that  on  each  of  the  two  hands  were  very  conveniently  situated 
five  digits  which  furnished  a  definite  span  as  a  starting  point  and  one 
that  was  doubled  by  the  digits  of  the  other  hand.  Barefoot  man  is 
so  facile  in  the  use  of  toes  for  prehensile  purposes  that  they  with  the 
fingers  may  very  possibly  have  furnished  the  score  of  twenty  that 
was  the  limit  for  counting  for  so  long.  In  any  case  the  prime  number 
five  with  its  multiples — and  eventually  their  powers — developed  into 
our  mathematical  system  because  of  man's  possession  of  five  digits; 
and  rhythm  started  out  by  two-beat  movement  and  kept  that  as  its 
base  because  of  the  convenience  of  two  legs  and  two  arms. 

The  other  general  fact  is  that  in  actual  music  as  it  has  been 
developed,  everything  is  based  on  two  and  its  multiples.  Not  that 
all  measures  have  an  even  number  of  beats;  but  even  where  they  have 
three  or  five  or  seven  beats  the  measures  are  grouped  by  twos  and 
fours.  Or  if  a  three-beat  measure  is  found  to  be  grouped  by  threes, 
the  effect  is  precisely  that  of  a  9/8  measure,  and  these  larger  groups 
are  in  still  larger  groups  of  two  and  four.  It  does  not  follow  that 
all  music,  all  pieces  and  songs,  have  an  even  number  of  measures. 
But  it  does  follow  that  in  those  specimens  of  music  that  represent 
the  form  from  which  it  is  possible  for  creative  art  to  deviate  for  aes- 
thetic purposes,  the  symmetrical  grouping  by  fours  and  eights  is  strictly 
adhered  to.  This  appears  in  all  simple  varieties  of  the  song-form, 
(v.  IV,   1  and  2,  below). 

Subdivision  of  a  beat  into  smaller  units  was  an  early  exercise  of 
the  rhythmic  sense,  and  it  is  from  that  that  the  three-beat  time  had 
its  origin.     When  the  small  boy  starts  clapping  in  a  crowd  the  rhythm 


usually    adopted    is        I  J      I       J^    J   I   J     J   I   J^    J 


but 


some  more  inventive  boy  varies  the  monotony  by  dividing  the  third 
beat  into  three  shorter  beats,  which  interests  others  as  a  novelty  and 
the  crowd  joins  in.  He  is  but  a  replica  of  primitive  man.  For  him 
the  transition  from  such  a  subdivision  to  the  use  of  three  longer  beats 
was  an  easy  matter,  but  as  in  that  subdivision  the  larger  grouping 
still  remained  that  of  two  or  four.  Aside  from  the  song-form  in 
the  historical  progress  of  music  evidence  is  abundant  in  the  popular 
songs  that  have  an  appealing  rhythm,  as  most  of  them  do.  Very  seldom 
do  they  have  any  time  more  difficult  than  3/4  or  6/8  because  difficul- 
ty of  any  kind,  rhythm  or  signature  or  intervals  or  harmony,  is  a 
great  obstacle  to  popularity.  But  any  larger  grouping  other  than 
by  fours  is  hardly  to  be  found;  it  is  too  puzzling  and  defeats  expecta- 
tion  too   seriously. 

4.  The  motor  response  released  by  a  rhythm  is  manifested  in  a 
variety  of  ways.  It  appears  in  the  toning  up  of  the  muscles  that 
are  used  in  work  or  play  or  marching  to  accompanying  rhythm.  It 
appears  again  in  the  tendency  to  follow  along  with  the  stressed  beats 
by  tapping  of  the  feet,  beating  time  with  the  hand,  nodding  the  head 
or  even  swaying  of  the  whole  body.  Such  accompanying  movements 
add  to  the  pleasure  of  the  rhythmic  experience,  though  the  subject 
is  often  not  conscious  of  making  them.  They  are  instinctive  in  their 
nature  and  need  long  continued  habit  of  inhibition  in  order  to  be 
overcome;  it  is  doubtful  if  they  are  ever  entirely  inhibited.  The 
motion  synchronizes  in  its  climax  with  the  occurrence  of  the  stressed 
beat  and  this  coincidence  is  due  to  the  discharge  of  nervous  energy, 
that  attends  the  stressed  beat.  Experiments  of  Wundt  and  others 
have  shown  that   there  is  a  process  of  increasing   tension  that  begins 


• Rhythm o 

immediately  after  the  accent  and  reaches  its  climax  just  before  the 
next  stress.  This  latter  brings  almost  instant  relaxation,  and  the 
process  begins  all  over  again.  The  increasing  tension  is  storing  up 
energy,  which  is  discharged  with  the  stress  and  the  conditions  are 
thus  most  favorable  for  some  motor  response. 

Such  a  regularly  recurrent  phenomenon  is  bound  to  become  the 
basis  of  a  subconsious  expectation  even  before  conscious  expectation 
is  evoked.  The  expectation  then  reacts  on  the  motor  response  to  make 
it  more  active  and  marked  and  this  in  turn  reacts  on  expectation  to 
make  it  more  definite.  At  last  a  thorough-going  habituation  strengthens 
expectation  in  various  directions  until  a  sort  of  norm  is  established, 
existing  often  long  before  it  is  consciously  recognized. 

5.  In  order  that  expectation  may  become  actively  operative  in 
rhythm,  it  is  necessary  that  some  such  norm,  as  has  been  referred  to, 
be  established  by  dint  of  constant  repetition  and  habituation,  though 
conscious  recognition  of  it  as  a  norm  may  be  long  delayed.  Granted 
now  that  the  grouping  whether  of  few  or  many  units  be  based  on  twos 
and  fours,  the  important  question  presents  itself:  what  sequence  of 
beats  within  a  smaller  group,  a  measure,  is  the  norm  on  the  strength 
of  which  expectation  becomes  operative?  In  as  much  as  no  answer 
is  possible  from  records  of  primitive  times,  we  must  resort  to  primitive 
music  that  still  survives,  and  to  actual  usage  in  the  development  of 
our  modern  system.  But  before  we  come  to  music  at  all,  there  was 
a  constant  practice  of  a  sort  of  rhythm  that  tended  to  grow  more 
regular,  that  of  the  legs  in  walking.  In  the  very  nature  of  the  case 
the  simplest  grouping  here  is  of  two  approximately  equal  beats,  which 
would  be  easily  doubled  for  a  larger  group,  making  a  measure  of  four 
approximately  equal  beats.  Any  deviation  from  this  succession  of 
equal  beats  would  result  either  from  a  change  in  the  mode  of  walking 
or  from  use  of  the  legs  in  dancing  involving  irregularities,  or  from  the 
use  of  the  hands.  But  when  hands  began  to  be  used  to  accompany 
walking  or  dancing  with  clapping,  the  first  impulse  would  be  to  repeat 
with  the  hands  the  rhythm  already  grown  common  and  familiar  in 
walking,  and  that  is  substantially  what  the  small  boy  does  in  his 
rhythmic  clapping.  The  subdivision  of  one  of  the  beats  into  two  or 
three  shorter  beats  is  about  the  first  deviation  from  the  simple  norm 
thus  suggested.  But  this  first  step  results  at  first  in  a  smaller  group 
of  beats  that  are  intended  to  be  equal,  whether  two  or  three,  and  this 
line  of  analysis  seems  to  point  to  the  group  of  equal  beats  as  the  norm 
which  forms  the  basis  of  expectation.  To  such  a  conclusion,  however, 
there  seems  to  rise  a  strong  objection  in  the  available  records  of 
primitive  music,  which  show  comparatively  few  examples  in  which 
such  an  even  rhj-thm  is  used.  The  force  of  this  objection  is  weakened  by 
two  considerations.  In  the  first  place  all  such  music  is  vocal  and  is  obliged 
to  conform  to  the  exigencies  of  words  which  are  intended  to  be  metrical 
in  a  large  way,  but  in  which  there  is  no  strict  regularity  as  to  the 
number  of  syllables  in  a  given  metric  group.  In  the  second  place — 
and  this  is  of  more  weight — the  peoples  of  whom  we  have  records  are 
already  at  a  point  in  the  development  of  rhythm  where  complicated 
forms  are  already  in  use,  and  that  reacts  on  their  treatment  of  rrielodic 
phrases.  But  while  the  melodies  themselves  are  not  of  the  simpler 
type  with  equal  undivided  beats,  there  is  often  to  be  found  a  drum 
beat  accompanying  the  singing  that  is  just  of  the  simple  pattern. 
A  part  of  the  enjoyment  of  the  melody  lies  in  its  more  or  less  free 
deviation  from  the  pattern  rhythm  given  out  by  the  drums.  The  follow- 
ing folk  songs  are  good  examples  of  this  norm  (with  slight  modifications 
in  some);  they  are  presented  in  a  collection  edited  by  Gran\nlle  Ban- 


The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


tock.*  "The  Vicar  of  Bray"  (No.  3),  "The  Ash  Grove"  (No.  15), 
"Early-Strolling"  (No.  22),  "In_  Cellar  Cool"  (No.  33),  The  old 
English  song,  "I've  Been  Roaming"  is  a  specimen.  Quite  a  large  number 
of  old  church  chorales,  represented  in  our  hymn  books  by  "Old  Hun- 
dred", "Dundee",  "Yorke"  and  others,  and  much  more  frequent  in 
the  German  church  music,  are  of  this  normal  rhythm  of  equal  beats 
in  the  measure.  Beethoven  has  a  number  of  striking  melodies  of  the 
same  type,  among  them  three-beat  Scherozs  and  Allegros  of  the  Second, 'f 
Third,^  Sixth,'  Seventh^  and  Ninth*  Symphonies,  the  theme  of  the 
Allegro  Vivace  of  the  Fourth*  (first  movement),  and  the  chorale  of 
the  Ninth'  as  the  voices  take  it  up.  In  many  varieties  of  music 
there  are  passages  occurring  in  which  this  normal  rhythm  is  strictly 
followed,  the  alternating  contrast  between  that  and  the  freer  rhythm 
before  and  after  it  being  one  special  source  of  pleasure  and  interest. 
6.  Now  a  rhythm  that  adheres  exactly  to  such  a  norm  satisfies 
expectation  and  affords  corresponding  pleasure,  the  kind  of  pleasure 
that  such  satisfaction  can  afford.  That  it  is  not  permanently  and  ex- 
clusively pleasurable  is  proven  by  the  multiplication  of  minor  deviations 
of  great  variety  and  also  by  the  radically  different  patterns  as  a  whole 
that  have  been  invented;  patterns  that  cover  not  only  the  span  of  a 
single  measure  but  an  entire  group  of  measures.  As  indicated  above, 
one  of  the  simplest  variations  is  that  which  subdivides  a  beat  into 
two  or  three  equal  parts.  In  the  Allegretto  of  the  Seventh  Symphony, 
for  instance,  Beethoven  subdivides  the  second  beat  in  the  odd  measures 


..follows:    IJ    J3IJ    j     IJ      J]|j     J 


etc.  If  the  chords  of 


that  Allegretto  were  given  with  equal  beats  it  would  sound  decidedly  like 
a  funeral  march*,  but  the  doubling  of  the  second  beat  adds  a  lightness 
to  the  movement  even  if  it  is  taken  in  rather  slow  time.  Variety  is 
introduced  later  by  subdividing  into  three  parts,  and  by  a  pitting 
of  twos  and  threes  against  each  other.  The  accented  beats  retain 
the  stress  throughout  and  this  type  does  little  more  than  add  the  interest 
of  variety  without  the  shock  of  a  surpnse.  The  movement  and  interest 
are  added  to  in  the  rhythm  that  divides  both  beats  into  two  equal 
parts,  as  Beethoven  does  in  the  finale  of  Sonata  No.  6,'  varying  it 
still  more  by  doubling  the  number  of  smaller  units  at  irregular  intervals. 
Mozart  does  nearly  the  same  thing  in  the  overture  to  "Magic  Flute."'" 
These  are  in  two  beat  and  four-beat  measures  respectively;  Sonata 
No.  1  has  in  the  Trio  a  like  subdivision  in  a  three-beat  measure, i' 
while  the  finale  of  No.  3'^  and  the  first  movement  of  No.  4'^  break 
up  a  f  measure  into  the  six  units,  amounting  practically  to  two  beats 
split  up  into  three  each. 

In  all  the  modified  rhythms  thus  far  mentioned,  there  is  no  regular 
lengthening  of  the  stressed  beat,  which  helps  to  add  to  its  importance. 
That  is  found  in  a  three-beat  measure  when  the  first  two  beats  are 
united  on  one  tone,  as  in  the  theme  of  the  first  movement  of  Beethoven's 

Third    vSymphony,  IJ  JJ   JJ   JJJ    Jl  '  ^^  ^^    found    in    the 

same  proportion  but  on  a  smaller  scale  when  two  of  the  six  beats  are 
united     on     the     stressed     note,  \J^J-J^J-J^J-J^'    as    they 

are  in  so  much  of  music     in    f    time.       In   a  two-beat  or  four-beat 

♦Folksongs  of  all  Nations,  O.  Ditson  &  Co. 

tThese  small  figures  refer  to  music  exaiRpleB  on  the  final  pages. 


Rhythm 


measure    three    of  the  beats  or  subdivisions  arc  united  on  the  first  note 
for  a  two-beat  written  thus: 


)\-  for    ^[J^J-  J  I      ), 


IH    I  ■^" '  I 


for  a  four-beat  This  modification  interferes  more  de- 


cidedly with  the  norm,  carrying  the  first  tone  over  the  expected  beat;  until 
the  third  beat  is  heard  there  is  uncertaintv,  as  all  three  or  four  beats  may 
be  united  in  the  first  tone,  but  as  soon  as  the  third  or  fourth  beat  is  heard 
there  is  instant  expectation  of  the  next  stressed  beat,  and  any  interference 
with  that  rhythmic  sequence  would  be  a  decided  surprise.  Occasionally 
the   time  on   the   stressed   beat   is   still   longer,   as   at    the   beginning   of 


the    Trio    in 


Beethoven's    Fourth    Symphony:    y   J    J  •     J    J    J 

etc.;  in  this,  when  at  last  the  short  beat  is  heard,  expectation  of  the 
next  stressed  beat  is  heightened. 

The  effect  of  the  quicker  movement  in  the  first  mentioned  deviation 
is  often  combined  with  the  greater  importance  given  the  stressed 
note  by  lengthening,  and  this  is  a  still  more  radical  departure  from  the 
norm.     In    a     three-beat    measure    the    effect    is    as    follows: 


etc.; 


a     two-beat      measure, 


M= 


an 


etc.  in  a  I  measure.  The  first  is  represented  in  a  passage  in  the  Andante 
of  the  First  Symphony  of  Beethoven,  just  before  B  in  the  upper  parts  and 
beginning  at  13  in  the  basses  (|  measure.)  The  second  appears  in  quite  a 
long  passage  in  the  final 3  of  the  Seventh  Symphony  before  and  after  B. 
The  third  is  used  repeatedly  in  the  first  movement  of  the  Seventh. 
The  short  note  just  preceding  a  stressed  (or  comparatively  stressed 
note)  heightens  expectation  of  the  latter  and  makes  the  sense  of  the 
larger  rhythm  more  marked.  For  this  reason — though  all  unconsciously 
— this  particular  type,  in  one  or  two  beats  at  least,  is  frequently  used 
in  march  music;  it  is  a  decided  aid  in  accurate  keeping  of  step.  Even 
the  funeral  march  in  the  Sonata  in  A  flat  No.  12,'''  as  well  as  that  in 
the  Third  Symphony'^  and  in  the  Chopin  Sonata  in  B  flat  minor  ", 
has  parts  of  measures  broken  up  in  this  way.  In  fact,  a  piece  in  4/4 
measure  with  some  beats  of  measures  divided  up  thus  is  thereby 
stamped  as  of  the  march  music  type,  and  is  liable  to  set  in  motion 
the  marching  impulses,  just  as  an  alluring  waltz  rhythm  makes  the 
lover  of  dancing  feel  the  impulse  of  rythmic  movement.  In  the 
regular  march  movement  the  first  strongly  accented  beat  is  not  usually 
broken  up;  the  stress  is  fortified  by  the  longer  time  given  it.  Mention 
may  be  made  here  of  the  fact  often  observed  that  without  long  con- 
tinued drill  a  company  of  men  marching  is  quite  apt  to  accelerate  the 
tempo  by  degrees,  especially  if  it  began  slow.  The  slight  acceleration 
noted  above  just  before  the  stress  (v.  I,  1,  above)  is  increased  by  this 
special  form  of  subdivision  of  the  measure  and  not  balanced  by  a 
corresponding  increase  of  retardation.  The  longer  time  given  to  the 
first  part  of  a  beat  rouses  expectation  to  the  point  of  impatience 
and   hastening   on   to   the   stress. 

These  and  a  number  of  other  rhythms  (which  it  is  not  necessary 
to  describe  in  detail)  agree  in  a  fundamental  adherence  to  the  norm 
in   this  respect  that   no   normally  unstressed   beat  is  given  the  stress; 


The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


they  can  be  combined  in  a  great  variety  of  ways,  and  as  a  matter 
of  fact  most  rhythmic  patterns  used  by  composers  are  a  combination 
of  several  of  the  above  or  of  them  with  others  yet  to  be  mentioned. 
So  long  as  the  stress  is  felt  on  the  beat  where  it  is  expected  there 
is  fundamentally  satisfaction;  interest  there  is  in  variety,  but  no 
element  of  surprise.  This  enters  in  the  moment  a  normally  unstressed 
beat  is  accented,  which  is  done  in  what  is  called  syncopated  time. 
The  simplest  form  of  this  is  that  in  which  the  second  beat,  normally 
weak,  is  accented  and  held  over  the  normally  stressed  third  beat  in 
a     four-beat    measure.      In    a   |   measure   the   result   is   as   follows: 

|>J     J^\^j    J^l        '''■■'    ^"    ^    -      [iJ    J|JJ   J|    '    '''■■'    i"    ^ 

three-beat  measure,      J  J     J  J    >  ^^c.  or  ,      Sj      K J     etc.;  doubling 


the  last  gives  a  f  measure  treated  this  way.  The  hearing  of  the 
first  beat  leads  to  expectation  of  an  unstressed  beat  to  follow, 
but  instead  of  that  we  meet  suddenly  the  real  stress  of  the  measure, 
and  as  compared  with  any  changes  heretofore  mentioned  this  gives 
a  genuine  surprise.  This  surprise,  the  defeat  of  expectation,  is  the 
fundamental  and  characteristic  feature  of  the  syncopated  rhythm, 
and  it  retains  the  piquancy  and  interest  growing  out  of  the  fact  even 
though  we  hear  it  so  often  that  we  know  definitely  what  is  coming. 
That  is,  a  piece  whose  rhythmical  character  is  based  on  surprise  does 
not  lose  its  interest  from  familiarity;  but  that  does  not  imply  that 
the  element  of  surprise  cannot  be  overworked.  It  is  a  surprise  be- 
cause the  other  rhythm  is  the  norm  and  the  staple.  If  now  for  the 
sake  of  attaining  piquancy  and  interest  we  turn  the  surprise  into  the 
staple,  trying  to  create  a  new  norm,  then  by  the  very  nature  of  our 
minds  it  ceases  to  surprise,  loses  the  very  piquancy  sought.  Instead 
of  being  used  as  a  means  to  higher  aesthetic  ends  it  is  really  sought 
as  an  end  in  itself.  Eventually  that  which  is  now  the  norm  will  be 
introduced  to  give  interest  to  a  jaded  appetite.  The  economy  exercised 
by  a  master  like  Beethoven  in  this  matter  is  instructive  even  for  a 
student  of  the  psychology  of  music.  He  uses  syncopated  time  with 
entire  freedom  but  remains  its  master.  In  the  theme  of  the  "Lenore" 
overture,  he  gives  in  three  successive  measures  three  contrasting  rhythms, 
the   last   one   being   the   norm   while     the    first    is     the    syncopated: 

In  the  course  of  the  overture  the 

syncopated  measure  is  repeated  about  ten  times  in  succession,  working  up 
to  a  climax  in  which  the  theme  is  heard  again  with  its  quota  of  normal 
time.  We  are  not  allowed  to  forget  the  normal  in  the  interest  of  the 
surprising.  He  also  treats  the  melody  of  the  chorale  in  the  Ninth 
Symphony  by  syncopation,  omitting  the  stressed  beat  repeatedly,* 
but  later  he  takes  it  up  again  with  strong  normal  rhythm. t  But  even 
when  a  composer  uses  a  quasi  syncopated  rhythm  throughout  a  piece, 
as  Mozart  does  in  one  of  his  quartets,  it  is  manifestly  for  a  special 
aesthetic  purpose;  for  it  stands  alone  in  all  his  vast  range  of  creative 
work.     And  yet  he,  too,  resorts  with  some  freedom  to  syncopation.   The 

time  in  that  quartetj  is  as  follows:    Fj.      Fj  .    Fj.    jj.     jj.     Fj. 

*Alla  Marcia,  in  Finale,  between  N  and  O. 

tibid.  at  R. 

+Trio,  Quartet  No.  11- 


Rhythm 


9 


which  is  quite  a  different  type  from  that  in  the  "Lenore"  overttire; 
here  the  norm  calls  for  full  time  on  the  stressed  beat  while  the  surprise 
is  caused  by  the  stressed  beat  being  much  shorter.  Much  Scotch 
and  Irish  folk  music  has  this  peculiar  rhythm.  Other  nationalities 
have  adopted  a  sort  of  syncopated  rhythm  in  their  folk  music.  The 
Hungarian  has  a  good  deal  of  the  type  described  above  in  the  "Lenore" 
overture  in  a  |  measure,  but  by  no  means  exclusively  of  that  kind. 
Spanish  dances  in  a  three-beat  measure  often  have  syncopated  measures. 
It  remained  for  music  in  the  United  States  to  develop  an  almost 
exclusively  syncopated  type  of  rhythm  with  the  not  very  descriptive 
name  of  ragtime.  Some  have  risen  in  its  defense  against  charges  of 
insincerity  and  inanity  and  claim  for  it  real  artistic  value  as  well  as 
a  fresh  piquancy  characteristic  of  the  country.  From  the  psychological 
standpoint  pure  and  simple — into  the  other  controversy  it  is  un- 
necessary to  enter — ragtime  is  without  doubt  open  to  the  charge  of 
overworking  the  element  of  surprise  in  its  rhythm.  Piquancy  is  sought 
as  an  end  in  itself,  and  as  suggested  above,  the  surprise  is  in  a  fair 
way  to  become  the  staple  and  cease  to  surprise;  in  that  case  piquancy 
will  result  from  occasional  return  to  the  norm.  The  cycle  may  even 
be  completed  and  the  saturated  ragtimer  try  to  regain  a  lost  piquancy 
by_using  the  neglected  norm  so  freely  that  it  again  becomes  the  staple. 
One  syncopated  rhythm  still  awaits  mention,  that  which  arises 
from  the  sudden  substitution  of  one  more  or  less  exact  norm  for 
another  temporarily,  the  effect  being  that  in  the  rhythm  that  is  dis- 
placed from  its  right  of  way  an  unstressed  beat  suddenly  takes  the 
accent  and  upsets  expectation.  It  often  happens  that  the  listener 
is-  obliged  to  wait  a  measure  or  two  (or  even  longer)  before  catching 
the  new  rhythm.  In  the  first  movement  of  Beethoven's  Third  Sym- 
phony   a    three-beat    measure    undergoes    the    following    changes: 

J    JJ     JIJJJIJ      J       represents  the  starting  rhythm  of  the 
theme;  it  is  doubled  in  time,}  JJJJJJjJJJJJ      I  •  etc.;  out  of 


that  emerges  a  partly  syncopated  effect  I  J  J  •  J  u  J  J^-  J  >  ^^len  sudden- 
ly the  short  eighth  note  is  omitted  and  the  accented  beat  is  held  to 
the  end  of  the  measure,  the  rhythmic  stress  begins  the  next  measure, 
but  the  third  beat  now  is  stressed  and  held  over  the  normal  stress 

of  the  next  measure,  being  written  thus:  |  J  J       J     J  I  J    J     I  J 

and  in  effect  interrupting  the  modified  three-beat  measure  by  substitut- 
ing a  strongly  marked  normal  two-beat   that  might  be  written  thus: 

J     J  I  J     J   I   '*  ^*^-     Similarly  Brahms  in   his   song   "Von   ewiger 

Liebe"     changes     a     f     measure     into     a     f     measure 

I  J  jS^NjI  J   J^^NjI       equivalent    to 


as      follows: 
,  etc.     Again, 


in     the     finale     of     Beethoven's     Sonata     No.  17,     about     half     way 

in  the  first    section    a  |  rhythm    is  replaced    by  one   equivalent    to  -f  " 

Such  substitutions  are  surprises  in   their  very  essence  and  subject  to 

*After  G  io  recapitulation;  also  early  in  first  fiertioTi. 


10 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

the  same  psychological  limitations  as  all  syncopation  in  rhythm.  They 
lose  their  effect  as  surprises  and  fail  to  interest  either  if  they  are 
carelessly,  mechanically  used,  or  if  the  device  is  worked  too  hard. 
7.  In  spite  of  what  has  been  said  above  of  the  syncopated  rhythm, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  the  sense  of  rhythm,  both  separately  and  as 
conjoined  in  music  with  melody  and  harmony,  is  long-suffering,  far 
more  so  than  either  of  the  other  elements.  A  body  of  men,  after  a 
long    march  during    which    the    drum    has    been    tapping    regularly    its 


monotonous  time  \  J  i    jMjJJi 


still  respond  to  the  rhythm 


and  march  better  with  it  than  if  they  were  allowed  to  straggle 
along.  But  that  tapping  stands  for  the  norm  of  a  four-beat  measure, 
the  missing  beats  being  supplied  in  the  consciousness  of  the  marchers. 
And  the  same  fact  holds  true  in  music.  Provided  the  melody  and 
harmony  furnish  material  of  interest  the  normal  rhythm  can  be 
maintained  throughout  and  still  be  effective  at  the  end.  In  fact, 
provided  the  rhythm  is  strongly  maintained  a  weakness  of  melody 
or  harmony  may  be  helped  out.  And  whatever  may  be  said  as  to 
those  two  elements  in  the  popular  ephemeral  songs  and  dances  of 
the  day,  at  least  these  have  an  appealing  rhythm;  and  many  a  song 
that  is  lamentably  weak  in  both  melody  and  harmony — commonplace 
and  utterly  conventional  as  well  as  insincere — has  beaten  its  way 
into  a  brief  vogue  by  its  strong  rhythm. 

But  this  fact  is  paralleled  by  another  equally  striking.  A  rhythm 
adopted  by  a  composer  as  the  time  substratum  of  a  certain  work,  may 
likewise  be  repeated  and  maintained  unchanged  to  the  end  without 
causing  a  sense  of  monotony,  providing  again  the  superstructure  of 
melody  and  harmony  is  worthy  and  well  handled.  In  the  Allegretto 
of  the  vSeventh  Symphony  referred  to  above  (6  above),  the  rhythm 
adopted,  a  simple  modification  of  the  norm,  is  sustained  practically 
unbroken  to  the  end,  covering  five  pages  in  piano  score;  melody  and 
harmony  meant'me  having  changed  radically.     Again,  in  Sonata  No.  19, 

the  finale  has  a  stirring  rhythm,  equivalent  to  6    J     S  J    j)\  J   j^  J    j^[ 

with  most  of  the  beats  subdivided,  and  with  few  pauses  this  remains 
unchanged  to  the  end,  while  new  melodic  subjects  and  various  modula- 
tions come  and  go. 

Now  it  would  be  impossible  to  maintain  interest,  to  avoid  the 
effect  of  monotony,  if  either  a  melodic  subject  or  a  chosen  harmonic 
sequence,  no  matter  how  entrancing  they  might  be  in  themselves, 
were  simply  repeated  practically  unchanged  to  the  end  of  a  piece. 
The  few  exceptions  that  might  l^e  named,  such  as  the  old  time  musette 
or  some  more  modern  imitation  of  that,  or  cradle  songs,  like  Chopin's 
Berceuse'*,  the  avowed  object  of  which  is  a  certain  soporific  monotony, 
are  evidently  nothing  but  exceptions  with  a  definite  aesthetic  purpose. 
This  marked  difference  between  rhythm  on  the  one  hand,  and  melody 
and  harmony  on  the  other,  finds  its  explanation  in  the  more  marked 
somatic  reaction  of  the  former.  To  quote  briefly  from  Dr.  Seashore*, 
"rhythm  not  only  adjusts  the  strain  of  attention,  it  also  gives  a  feeling 
of  bala.nce,  a  sense  of  freedom  and  power;  it  stimulates,  and  at  the 
same  time  lulls."  .  . 

A  large  share  of  what  somatic  resonance  results  from  melodic 
phrases  and  harrnonic  sequences  is  to  be  credited  to  the  rhythm  in 
which  they  are  embodied.  Present  the  same  sequence  of  interval 
or  harmony  in  a  haphazard  irregular  way,  and  most  of  the  effect  they 

♦Psychology  of  Musical  Talent    pp.  118-123. 


Rhythm 11 

once  had  is  dissipated.  The  mere  auditory  image  of  a  stirring  march 
melody  loses  out  in  stimulating'  effect  in  the  effort  to  single  out  for 
separate  thought  devoid  of  any  rhythmic  sequence  the  chords  and 
intervals  that  are  in  its  actual  movement.  Such  an  experiment  with 
the  "Tannhauser  March,"  for  instance,  is  very  instructive  on  this 
point. 

The  ragtime  and  "jazz"  movement  seem  to  be  an  instinctive 
effort  to  renew  interest  in  rhythm  by  special  devices  that  have  a  start- 
ling effect.  The  interest  in  rhythm  as  such,  is  evidenced  by  the  at- 
tention attracted  by  a  drum  corps  with  its  many  varieties  of  groupings, 
by  the  clapping  of  fiat  pieces  of  unmusical  wood  in  a  band  or  orchestra, 
tapping  with  light  sticks,  almost  anything  to  accentuate  the  rhythm. 
Without  any  abatement  of  what  has  been  said  as  to  the  psychological 
unsoundness  of  the  device  of  surprise  as  an  end  in  itself,  of  its  too 
constant  use,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  jerkiness  and  sudden  transi- 
tions in  rhythm  of  "jazz"  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  rhythm 
of  certain  prose  sentences  with  their  sudden  changes  in  the  grouping 
of  syllables.  The  sentence  from  Walter  Pater,  selected  by  Patterson*, 
is  soothing  in  comparison. 

8.  In  the  opening  measures  of  a  work  of  music  the  composer 
sets  forth  a  rhythmic  grouping,  which  serves  as  a  pattern  for  the 
listener,  which  is  consciously  or  .subconsciously  present  as  a  basis  of 
expectation  and  comparison  to  the  end.  Because  of  the  well  understood 
use  of  repetition  in  composition,  not  only  is  there  expectation  of  the 
return  of  the  pattern  a  number  of  times,  but  as  soon  as  the  first  few 
tones  of  it  are  heard  lively  expectation  is  excited  as  to  the  sequence 
within  the  pattern.  Even  though  the  melody  and  harmony  suffer 
considerable  change,  the  rhythmic  pattern  is  expected,  and  repetition 
does  not  weaken  its  effect.  Because  of  the  constantly  renewed  somatic 
response,  the  pleasure  of  satisfied  Cvxpectation  with  which  it  is  greeted 
can  suffice  without  change  almost  indefinitely.  And  composers  have 
counted  on  it  and  do  count  on  it.  The  frothy  popular  songs  and 
dances  that  keep  the  market  well  stocked  depend  on  it,  and  if  their 
melodic  and  harmonic  content  is  more  nearly  on  a  level  with  the 
rhythmic  they  enjoy  a  longer  lease  of  life. 

The  x^llegretto  of   Beethoven's  Seventh   Symphony,   already  cited. 


starts  our  with  the  pattern: 


{  J    JJ  I  J     J   I    ;  it  is  on  a  two  measure 

scale,  and  is  heard  throughout  the  movement.  Expectation  here  joins 
hands  with  somatic  resonance  in  securing  the  pleasure  in  this  phase 
of  it,  and  it  is  fresh  still  at  the  end.  The  same  composer  in  the 
Scherzo  of  the  Third  Symphony,  gives  a  vigorous  three-beat  rhythm 

J      J  J  J    J  J  J       ^^^■'  ^"*  makes  the  general   pattern  of    twelve 

measures  irregular  to  the  extent  of  inserting  two  extra  measures, 
interrupting  the  expected  flow  by  fours.  That  pattern  is  the  basis  of 
expectation,  and  its  own  deviation  from  the  norm  of  twelve  or  sixteen, 
together  with  the  deviations  introduced  later,  are  part  of  the  jest 
(Scherzo)  played  on  the  listener.  But  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
examples  of  a  persistently  repeated  pattern,  is  in  the  frrst  movement 
of  his  Fifth;  in  this  a  single  measure  suffices.  It  begins  on  an  un- 
stressed subdivision  of  the  first  beat  of  a  i  measure  and  ends  on  the 
stressed  beat  of  the  next  measure.  As  announced  this  last  beat  is 
held,-  but  as  it  is  taken  up  and  developed  it  has  the  following  figure: 

♦ 
*0p.  Cit.  p.  62. 


12  The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


■y  J  J  J  I  J^  J  J  J  j  ^ .  etc.  But  again,  it  is  given  in  such  quick  tempo 
that  the  stressed  beats  group  themselves  in  a  larger  scheme  of  both  rhythm 
and   melody,    the  former  with  this  effect:    ^J      JJJJJ 


which  is  also  used  repeatedly  in  the  movement  and  stands  out  clear 
through  the  subdivision  of  the  beats.  It  even  reappears  only  slightly 
modified  in  the  second  subject,  which  also  has  close  kinship  with  the 

t:*  :=*  ra- 

melodic  phrase  involved:   J     J     J    J     J    J      J       •  Every  time  one  of 

these  patterns  begins  with  its  characteristic  three  short  notes  and  a 
stress — as  if  some  one  were  knocking — we  have  clear  expectation  of 
the  entire  sequence,  and  should  experience  quite  a  shock  or  surprise 
if  its  career  were  suddenly  checked;  and  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether 
it  would  be  a  pleasurable  surprise,  the  only  justification.  The  pattern 
of  the  "Lenore"  overture  (referred  to  above)  has  more  of  variety  with  a  be- 

:>  > 

ginning  in  syncopated  time;  IJJ     JJ.JlJjJJI  (•  Each 

return  of  that  syncopated  measure  arouses  expectation  of  the  rest  of 
the  pattern,  and  while  there  is  far  greater  variety  (a  series  of  syncopated 
measures  in  quick  succession,  subdividing,  and  other  changes  of  interest 
to  the  listener)  the  entire  pattern  is  heard  over  and  over  again.  Schu- 
mann begins  the  finale  of  his  Quartet  in  A  with  an  unusual  and  strik- 
ing rhythm  lasting  two  measures.  By  repetitions,  with  decided 
changes  of  melodic  and  harmonic  sequence,  he  extends  it  into  a  period 
of  fourteen  measures,  the  exact  rhythm  with  dotted  and  syncopated 
notes  recurring  seven  times.  Six  times  in  the  course  of  the  movement 
the  same  pattern  is  given  unchanged,  each  time  following'  contrasting 
material;  at  the  first  announcement  of  each  we  are  confidently  ex- 
pecting not  only  the  two  measures  that  make  up  the  pattern  but  the 
entire  series  of  seven  pairs  of  measures.  Twice  he  stops  at  the  eighth 
measure,  and  at  the  end  in  a  fort  of  coda  he  enlarges  on  the  pattern 
with  further  melodic  material  leading  into  a  rismg  cadence.  The 
pattern  is  as  follows: 


IlJTJini^iJ  JIJTD- 


etc. 


In    the    Cujus    Animan,    from    the    "Stabat    Mater,"    Rossini    has 
maintained   the   pattern    he   set   at   the   beginning   almost     unchanged 

to  the  end:   J .      Xj  I  J .      J ♦  ^  I  J .  I > etc. ;  and  he  further  accentuates 

the   march-like   rhythm   by   breaking   up   the   longer   note   in   the  ac- 

ipaniment:  \(  \\  J^  j    J    l/'j'^  J7^  J     J     ( }\  .etc.  The  occas- 


ional departures  from  the  pattern  serve  but  to  strengthen  expectatioii  of 
its  consistent  return  unchanged. 

^  It  is  not  at  all  uncommon  to  have  two  concomitant  rhythms  which 
divide  attention  somewhat  as  two  voices  in  polyphonic  harmony 
(V.  Ill,  3,  below),  and  each  starts  its  own  series  of  expectations.  Thus 
Elgar  in  the  "Dream  of  Gerontius"  has  on  page  2  of  the  Prelude, 
the  following  trwo  patterns  in  the  uppe^r  sAd  lower  parts  reepectiveJy : 


Rhyihm 


13 


U-JM-A- 


and 


S  S  S  0 


J-3JJJ  J 


;  each  has  its 


own  modifications  that  move  quite  independently;  each  reappears  a 
number  of  times  through  the  work  (not  always  conjointly),  and  in 
every  case  renews  expectation,  which  is  not  always  fully  met,  i.  e.,  a 
new  variation  adds  interest,  while  the  harmony  is  also  shifted. 

In  the  ultra-modern  composers  there  seems  often  to  be  a  dis- 
inclination to  set  any  clear  rhythmic  pattern  that  can  be  followed 
easily,  even  by  trained  listeners,  though  close  analysis  would  in  many 
cases  reveal  a  subtle  undercurrent,  which  amounts  to  a  pattern.  But 
for  the  uninitiated  the  effect  is  more  of  bewilderment  than  pleasure; 
there  is  no  chance  allowed  for  the  releasing  of  any  expectation.  And 
frequently,  when  there  seems  an  opening  and  expectation  begins  to 
operate,  it  is  followed  by  a  state  of  mind  that  is  less  a  pleasurable 
surprise  psychologically  than  a  painful  thwarting,  a  geniune  disappoint- 
ment. 

Folksongs  and  other  pieces  of  a  popular  nature  have  their  rh^-thmic 
patterns,  often  so  marked  that  the  mere  tapping  of  the  rhythm  will 
suggest  the  melody;  and  here,  too,  nationality  has  its  differences. 
The    following    may    stand    as    representative    of    this    type: 

Ij.  jSJ  JIJ.J^J  J  I        .        "All      through      the      Night;" 


|;g^j^J^|,^J^J^>^ 


"Yankee     Doodle;" 


"Star  Spangled  Banner 


•■JjJJjJ 


Strauss 


derson"     a     specimen     of     what    may     be     called     a    double     pattern; 


"Annie  Laurie."     The  slight   variation 


preceding  or  attending    a   cadence   or  cadence-like  pause,  is  not  of  the 
nature  of  a  surprise,  but  is  quite  in  keeping  with  expectation. 

In  bringing  this  study  of  rhythm  to  a  close,  it  is  in  place  to  re- 
mark on  the  presentation  of  the  subieot.  Neither  here  nor  in  the  sub- 
sequent studies  of  melody,  harmony  and  form,  was  it  the  intention 
to  prepare  a  complete  statement  that  should  be  exhaustive  in  detail 
of  all  the  numerous  ramifications  of  expeccation.  An  entire  paper  of 
this  extent  would  not  exhaust  the  subject  of  rhythm  alone.  It  has 
been  the  purpose  to  make  a  representative  selection  of  material 
and  point  out  by  analysis  the  constant  and  essential  operation  of 
expectation  in  rhythm.  Nor  was  there  any  intentional  implication 
that  expectation  in  connection  with  rhythm  was  dissociated  in  music 
as  ordinarily  experienced  from  that  growing  out  of  melodic  or  harmonic 
sequence.  The  elements  mentioned  are  separated  only  for  psychological 
analysis,  even  though  indissolubly  bound  together  in  fact.  Especially 
is  this  true  of  melody,  a  union  of  rhythm  with  interval,  which  is 
practiced  apart  from  harmony  by  far  the  larger  majority  of  the  earth's 
population.  To  them  melody  without  the  explicit  harmony  of  occidental 
music  is  a  reality,  a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  forever.  But  any 
attempt  to  incite  interest  in  melodic  sequence  that  is  entirely  free  of 
any  rhythmic  tie,  a  haphazard  connection  of  intervals  with  arbitrary 


14 The  Roi.n:  of  Expectation  in  Music 


time  for  each,  would  prove  the  necessity  of  some  kind  of  rhvthm  that 
shall  group  the  intervals  so  that  they  require  some  sort  of  "coherence 
and  meanmg.  It  may  even  be  that  the  subtleties  of  modem  harmony 
are  accountable,  in  part,  for  the  indiflference  to  rhythmic  patterns, 
referred  to  above.  Such  an  attitude  would  certainly  not  be  tolerated 
where  melody  in  its  freedom  from  explicit  harmony  is  the  only  music 
known. 


Melody  15 


II.     EXPECTATION  AS  IT  APPEARS  IN  MELODY. 

1.     Origrin  of  melody. 

Turning  now  to  the  phases  of  expectation  that  spring  from 
melody,  let  U3  raise  first  the  question  as  to  the  origin  of  melody. 
In  the  absence  of  all  records  we  can  at  most  but  set  up  plausible 
conjectures  from  careful  study  of  the  most  primitive  forms  of  music 
now  in  existence  and  from  the  observation  of  the  efforts  of  children, 
who  furnish  much  instructive  material.  Fruitful  suggestions  may  be 
gathered  from  a  study  of  the  process  by  which  children  gradually 
acquire  voluntary  control  of  movements  of  limbs.  There  must  precede 
a  long  period  of  random  movements  which  are  largely  (if  not  wholly) 
reflex  reactions  on  a  great  variety  of  stimuli,  andser\'e  along  with 
vocal  utterance  as  a  vent  to  feelings  of  varying  tone  and  intensity. 
Then  ensues  a  period  of  tentative  effort  at  voluntary  movement  when 
an  object  is  aimed  for  but  missed  by  a  wide  margin.  Then  repeated 
effort  improves  the  aim  until  finally  a  single  direct  movement  is  all 
that  is  needed.  The  same  process  may  be  observed  in  the  control 
of  the  vocal  organs.  At  first  the  cries  and  screams  of  pain  or  delight 
are  without  purpose  or  control,  mere  reflex  responses  to  different  stimuli. 
Gradually  the  infant  learns  that  certain  exertions  of  the  vocal  cords 
result  in  the  satisfaction  of  hunger  or  soothing  of  pain,  and  it  makes 
use  of  the  lesson  thus  earned.  During  a  long  subsequent  period  it 
tries  out  the  larnyx  in  various  ways  without  intent  to  either  convey 
meaning  or  imitate.  Then  follows  more  or  loss  conscious  imitation, 
before  long  with  voluntary'  effort  to  put  some  meaning  into  the  sounds, 
and  finally  closer  imitation  until  we  hear  the  germ  of  a  word.  Usually 
the  effort  to  imitate  musical  intervals  is  postponed  several  years,  but 
in  exceptional  cases  children  under  two  years  of  age  have  reproduced 
melodic  phrases  correctly;  this  simply  evinced  exceptional  organization, 
a  peculiarly  fine  co-ordination  of  the  auditory  sense  organ  and  the 
mechanism   of  the   throat. 

From  the  musical  efforts  of  primitive  peoples,  which  have  been 
carefully  studied  in  phonographic  records,  we  gather  that  the  earliest 
melodic  elements  were  the  simplest  intervals;  but  even  the  most 
primitive  imply  a  long  antecedent  period  during  which  these  intervals 
were  gradually  selected  out  of  the  many  sounds  which  men  discovered 
themselves  to  be  capable  of  producing.  Long  before  that  their  feel- 
ings under  different  degrees  and  kinds  of  excitation  found  vent  in 
multitudes  of  groans  and  whines  and  outcries  and  calls  and  screams 
and  roars  and  gurgles  and  laughs  and  other  sounds.  Before  the 
development  of  articulate  speech,  when  such  sounds  as  the  above 
were  depended  upon  for  what  little  communication  existed  between 
individuals  and  groups,  a  considerable  variety  and  shading  of  such 
inarticulate  utterances  must  have  grown  up,  more  than  were  subse- 
quently needed.  As  a  dog  notes  the  difference  between  a  play  growl 
and  the  real  thing,  when  it  may  escape  the  human  ear,  so  the  slight 
modifications  vvould  serve  to  convey  differences  of  feeling.  Now,  of 
course,  all  these  vocal  efforts  conformed  to  the  laws  of  sounds  produced 
at  the  orifice  of  a  tube  as  they  have  since  been  formulated  by  physical 
science;  and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  bodily  constitution 
of   man,    the   human   organism,    has   undergone   any   essential   changes, 


16       The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

that  would  affect  the  production  of  tone,  from  that  day  to  this.  It  is 
to  be  taken  for  granted  that  then,  as  now,  the  high  tension  induced 
in  the  vocal  cords  by  great  intensity  of  emotion  resulted  in  tone  of 
high  pitch,  and  a  change  in  the  emotional  intensity  would  change  the 
pitch  of  the  tone  and  the  result  would  be  an  interval.  The  range 
of  such  intervals  is  limited  by  the  very  nature  of  the  vocal  mechanism 
and  there  are  two  sets  of  range  in  the  male  and  female  voices  respective- 
ly. Out  of  the  various  intervals  accidently  hit  upon  in  the  involuntary 
(or  partly  voluntary)  sounds  some  were  felt  to  be  more  fitting  or 
satisfying  as  a  vent  to  excitement  of  feeling  than  others,  and  this 
preference  gave  rise  to  a  process  of  gradual  elimination_  and  selection, 
until  certain  intervals  like  the  5th,  its  complement  the'  4th,  and  the 
3rd,  were  heard  so  frequently  as  to  receive  a  sort  of  recognition,  of 
custom  alone  at  first.  In  the  most  primitive  melodies  of  which  we  have 
any  records  there  is  no  thought  of  the  quality  of  tone,  which  is  nearer 
the  howl  of  a  cayote  than  anything  else;  but  there  is  clearly  discernible 
the  labored  purpose  of  the  howler  to  produce  certain  intervals,  the 
5th  and  the  3rd.  While  music,  properly  speaking,  as  conscious  art, 
can  hardly  be  said  to  have  a  beginning  until  the  voluntary  eflfort  was 
made  to  repeat  a  series  of  such  intervals  at  a  different  pitch — an 
achievement  which  no  animals  seem  to  show  even  the  impulse  to  attain 
— there  might  very  well  have  preceded  a  series  of  intervals  truly 
deser\'ing  the  name  melodic,  but  as  yet  without  the  impulse  to  keep 
the  same  intervals  in  the  same  succession  at  a  different  pitch. 

2.    Control  of  the  simpler  intervals  in  singing. 

When  definite  intervals,  such  as  the  5th  and  3rd,  were  well  es- 
tablished and  in  common  use,  they  already  served  to  give  rise  to  a 
series  of  simple  expectations.  This  would  appear  clearly  in  one  peculi- 
arity common  to  primitive  music,  namely  the  falling  cadence.  The 
melody  almost  invariably  begins  on  a  high  note;  if  it  happens  to  be 
the  fifth — as  it  often  is — the  voice  would  descend  occasionally  to 
3rd  or  to  the  tonic,  and  eventually  come  to  a  close  on  the  latter. 
Accordingly  when  the  melodic  phrase  began,  the  feeUng  as  a  matter 
of  habit  that  it  was  the  fifth  leads  to  the  anticipation  of  the  3rd  to 
follow.  This  tone  being  heard  the  expectation  may  be  said  to  be 
divided  between  the  possibility  of  a  return  to  the  5th  and  a  descent 
to  the  tonic.  But  at  any  point  before  a  manifestly  concluding  cadence 
the  descent  to  the  tonic  would  immediately  rouse  expectation  of 
a  rise  to  the  3rd  or  5th  again.  And  thus  these  three  tones  would 
be  played  oflf  one  against  the  other  with  slightly  varying  degrees  of 
expectation.  The  opportunity  for  heightening  expectation  would  be 
chiefly  in  postponing  a  tone  that  would  be  normally  next  in  order; 
but  both  this  and  the  chance  of  surprising  are  manifestly  rather  limited. 
But  of  one  thing  the  listener  was  entirely  confident:  he  expected 
the  voice  to  fall  to  the  tonic  in  the  cadence.  Whether  a  soloist  or 
composer  ever  even  conceived  the  possibility  of  disappointing  his 
audience  on  that  point  we  can  with  high  degree  of  probability  deny; 
it  implies  too  self-conscious  an  attitude  at  that  stage  of  the  art.  But 
some  time  in  that  dim  past  a  venturesome  composer  surprised  his 
audience  by  letting  his  voice  rest  half-way  between  the  3rd  and  the 
tonic,  and  probably  gave  some  of  them  a  marked  pleasure  by  the 
surprise  of  the  intermediate  step.  Some  considerable  time  must  then 
elapse — as  in  similar  circimstances  it  always  has  elapsed  in  later  stages 
of  progress — before  such  an  innovation  received  the  recognition  it 
merited.  But  as  it  gradually  made  its  way  into  the  ears  and  hearts 
of  the  community  it  gave  room  for  great  expansion  of  expectation 
^d  consequent  aesthetic  pleasure.     On  hearing  the  3rd,  for  instance, 


Melody 17 

the  primary  expectation  now  would  be  of  a  descent  to  the  2nd;  as 
this  amounted  in  its  origin  to  a  postponement  of  the  inevitable  tonic — 
with  increase  of  final  pleasure — so  now  the  descent  to  the  2nd  itself 
can  be  postponed.  The  same  device  can  be  resorted  to  in  passing 
from  the  2nd  to  the  tonic.  It  is  not  intended  to  imply  that  all  this 
was  consciously  done  with  malice  aforethought  by  the  primitive  composer; 
this  is  simply  our  analysis  of  why  he  found  enjoyment  in  that  move- 
ment of  the  melody.  If  now  the  melodic  phrase  happens  to  begin 
with  the  tonic  there  is  an  added  possibility  in  the  ascent  to  the  2nd 
as  an  alternate,  and  that  heightens  expectation  of  the  3rd  to  follow. 
By  repeating  2  we  make  the  effect  of  postponing  3  and  intensifying 
suspense  of  expectation,  or  nearly  the  same  effect  is  obtained  by  raising 
the  melody  to  5  before  it  passed  to  3.  With  this  heightening  of  ex- 
pectation also  comes  the  opportunity  of  a  more  decided  surprise  with 
its  peculiar  aesthetic  effect. 

All  these  opportunities  are  increased  in  geometric  ratio  by  the 
discovery  of  the  next  interval  to  be  introduced,  the  6th.  This  resulted 
in  the  pentatonic  scale,  so-called,  to  the  analysis  of  which  we  may  now 
devote  a  few  paragraphs. 

3.    The  pentatonic  scale. 

The  fivT-tone  scale,  with  the  tones  1,  2,  3,  5,  6,  is  so  widely  dis- 
tributed geographically,  and  in  countries  having  no  intercommunication, 
that  it  may  well  claim  to  be  a  necessary  stage  in  the  progress  of  the 
art  of  music.  To  the  intervals  before  possible,  it  adds  one  more  fourth 
(3'6),  a  minor  third  (6-8),  and  a  fifth  (2-6).  This  manifestly  adds  to 
the  number  and  variety  of  expectations  that  may  spring  up,  but  more 
significant  still  is  the  far  greater  opportunity  for  intensifying  expecta- 
tion, and  preparing  a  possible  surprise.  It  is  evident  from  the  extent 
to  which  6  is  followed  by  5  in  pentatonic  melodies,-*  that  this  re- 
presents a  sequence  for  which  there  is  a  special  call,  so  to  speak. 
It  indicates  a  sort  of  melodic  dependence  of  6  on  5,  as  if  the  former 
afforded  no  resting  place  in  itself,  and  5  were  the  natural  tone  to 
pause  on.  The  interval  from  3  to  6  is  frequent  and  evidently  grateful, 
but  the  reverse  step  is  far  more  rare;  though  the  movement  from 
3  to  6  through  5  as  an  intermediate  step,  is  of  very  frequent  occurrence, 
either  at  the  beginning  of  a  melody,  or  as  a  phrase  in  the  course  of  it. 
It  amounts  essentially  to  a  pleasing  variation  on  the  interval  3-5  with  . 
a  heightened  expectation  of  the  latter  after  the  dependent  6.  The 
ascent  from  6  to  8  (the  tonic  octave)  is  never  by  way  of  a  cadence, 
doubtless  because  the  absence  of  the  leading  tone  (7)  creates  too  little 
expectation.  This  movement  (6-8)  is  found  when  the  melody  passes 
in  an  episode  to  the  octave  and  beyond.  In  the  return  to  the  lower 
level  the  pitch  of  6  serves  as  an  intermediate  step  between  8  and  5, 
and  again  heightening  of  expectation  results  with  keener  pleasure. 
But  postponement  may  be  further  added  as  a  means  of  creating  still 
keener  expectation. 

There  are  two  important  innovations  that  seem  to  have  been 
introduced  in  the  pentatonic  period.  The  first  appears  in  the  fretjuent 
use  of  a  lower  pitched  tone  as  the  beginning  of  a  melody,  and  hence, 
more  frequent  movement  of  melodic  phrases  upward  than  before. 
Another  lies  in  the  use  of  the  3rd  in  a  cadence  as  a  substitute  for 
the  tonic.  The  latter  must  have  come  at  first  as  a  delightful  surprise, 
and  it  constitutes  an  important  change,  not  only  in  setting  the  melody 
free  from  the  tyranny  of  the  tonic  cadence,  but  in  the  new  psychological 
effect  secured;  it  has  a  more  calming  effect  than  the  tonic. 


18 The  Role  of  ExpfecTATiON  in  Music 

The  ascent  of  the  melody  to  the  region  beyond  the  octave  at 
once  rouses  keen  expectation  of  return  to  the  octave — preferably 
through  the  intermediate  9 — and  from  there  to  the  resting  places  of 
,1,  3  or  tonic.  Here  again  is  fine  opportunity  for  postponing  the  in- 
evitable or  evading  it  as  a  surprise.  One  frequent  method  of  post- 
poning is  the  repetition  either  of  one  tone  before  that  which  is  ex- 
pected to  follow,  or  of  two  or  more.  For  from  the  octave  ultimate 
descent  to  a  lower  pitch  is  indispensable  as  yet  for  a  cadence;  there 
is  no  leading  tone  to  make  a  rising  cadence  to  the  octave  seem  in- 
evitable. 

4.    Greek  Modes. 

Before  the  modal  system  of  the  Greeks  was  possible,  two 
more  tones  were  added  between  the  tonic  and  its  octave,  thus 
making  the  full  complement  of  tones  in  our  diatonic  scale.  These 
are  the  4th  and  the  7th,  or  leading  tone.  The  interval  of  a  fourth 
had  been  represented  even  before  the  pentatonic  scale,  which  added 
another,  but  neither  of  these  had  that  relation  to  the  tonic.  Each 
of  the  new  tones  adds  a  third  to  possible  intervals;  4  adds  a  minor 
third  (2-4),  and  each  furnishes  a  semitone  (3-4,  7-8),  which  so  far 
had  been  lacking.  This  is  of  great  significance  for  our  purpose  as  the 
expectation  of  a  tone  separated  only  by  a  half  step  from  the  preceding, 
is  far  more  definite  than  of  any  other  tone.  Although  the  ground 
seemed  all  ready,  the  material  all  on  hand,  for  the  creation  of  harmony, 
the  Greeks  somehow  failed  to  make  the  necessary  start.  But  they  felt 
the  need  of  a  greater  variety  in  the  expression  of  emotion  and  built 
on  a  feature  of  the  pentatonic  scale  that  has  already  been  mentioned; 
substituting  the  3rd  for  the  tonic  in  a  cadence.  They  carried  it  to 
the  extent  of  substituting  any  tone  of  the  scale  for  the  tonic,  not  only 
in  a  cadence,  but  as  the  rea'  fundamental  of  the  entire  melody.  Each 
new  fundamental  sets  the  semitones  in  a  new  place  and  furnished  great 
differences  of  emotional  value.  Another  consequence  of  vast  importance 
was  that  in  addition  to  three  scales  in  which  the  first  three  tones 
were  identical  with  the  diatonic  (pentatonic  also)  they  secured  three 
others  in  which  the  interval  of  the  third  was  less  by  a  half  step,  i.  e., 
three  minor  scales,  beginning  on  2,  3  and  6  respectively.  The  last 
of  these  is  the  nearest  approach  to  our  modern  minor — identical  with 
it,  in  fact,  for  five  consecutive  tones.  It  is  a  fact  of  incidental  interest 
that  our  modem  diatonic  scale  was  not  in  high  favor  among  the  Greeks, 
who  charged  it  with  being  effeminate  in  its  effect.  But  the  point 
that  concerns  us  most  here  is  that  in  so  far  as  any  one  of  these  modes 
was  used  for  the  composing  of  melodies,  after  they  had  been  commonly 
recognized,  each  had  its  own  peculiar  series  of  expectations  founded  on 
the  relation  of  the  several  tones  to  the  one  chosen  for  fundamental 
of  the  particular  melody.  The  location  of  the  semitones  in  each 
.several  scale  made  marked  differences  in  the  expectation  in  melodic 
phrases.  The  expectation  of  a  cadence  returning  to  the  chosen  funda- 
mental (or  related  tone)  was  nearly  as  definite  and  strong  as  for  our 
diatonic  scale.  Since  aside  from  some  of  these  peculiarities  expectation 
follows  largely  along  the  line  of  our  diatonic  and  minor  scales,  we  may 
well  leave  further  analysis  to  the  discussion  of  those  scales. 

5.    Whole-tone  scale. 

The  whole-tone  scale  in  use  in  Siam  need  not  occupy  us  long. 
It  is  evidently  an  artificial  construction  on  a  theoretical  basis  and  is 
witness  to  the  fact  that  the  human  ear  can  accustom  itself  to  strange, 
even  abnormal  intervals.     In  this  scale  there  is  no  interval  correspond- 


Melody 1^ 

ing  to  our  fifth  or  fourth,  only  approximately  what  we  call  an  augmented 
fifth  or  fourth.  On  the  other  hand,  it  abounds  in  major  thirds,  each 
successive  tone  of  the  scale  having  a  tone  at  such  an  interval  above 
it.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  no  harmony  based  on  degrees 
of  fusion  is  possible,  for  just  as  soon  as  we  leave  the  third  every  other 
interval  (except  of  course,  the  octave),  is  what  we  term  a  dissonance, 
and  two  dissonances  are  not  like  two  negatives  in  neutralizing  each 
other.  The  use  of  a  similar  scale  in  some  of  DeBussy's  compositions, 
and  the  favor  they  seem  to  find  in  some  quarters,  are  further  evidence 
of  the  possibilities  of  habituation.  But  that  composer,  while  he  depends 
on  mild  blends  of  discord  so  constantly  as  to  amount  to  a  pronounced 
mannerism,  very  skillfully  avoids  the  harsh  combinations  that  grow 
out  of  the  scale.  But  the  Valkyries  of  Wagner  would  be  in  their 
element  in  the  whole-tone  scale,  dividing  the  octave  as  they  do 
into  three  equal  parts.  Any  deviation  from  the  full  step  or  full  major 
third  would  involve  a  semitone,  which  would  be  a  distinct  surprise; 
also  the  interval  of  a  fifth  or  fourth.  Again,  aside  from  these  pe- 
culiarities, there  would  be  expectation  in  certain  fundamental  and 
general  forms  very  much  as  in  the  diatonic  scale,  to  the  analytical 
study  of  which  we  now  pass  on. 

6.    The  Diatonic  Scale. 

It  will  be  simpler  to  deal  at  first  with  the  major  scale,  leaving 
the  minor  for  separate  treatment.  There  are  three  preliminary  con- 
siderations that  need  to  be  borne  in  mind. 

a.  A  melody  may  be  direct  in  its  progress  or  it  may  be  circuitous. 
That  is,  it  may  include  only  tones  that  are  essential,  omitting  any 
transitional  or  ornamental  tones  that  either  fill  out  an  interval,  or  are 
of  interest  as  affording  a  sort  of  variation;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
may  employ  many  such  tones,  which  often  give  the  effect  of  finish, 
but  often  are  nothing  more  than  padding. 

To  the  first  type  belong  large  numbers  of  church  chorales  and 
simple  melodies  of  many  composers.  The  fact  that  many  a  melody 
which  would  be  unattractive  in  its  simple  or  crude  form''"  becomes 
charming  with  the  appropriate  finish,  does  not  alter  fundamental 
expectation  in  the  least. 

b.  The  direction  of  expectation,  whether  to  a  tone  below  the 
first  tone  of  a  melody  or  above  it,  depends  largely  on  the  absolute 
pitch  of  the  latter.  In  general,  the  lower  this  is  the  less  will  the  melody 
be  expected  to  descend  on  the  next  following  tone;  while  corresponding- 
ly the  higher  it  is  the  less  will  the  melody  be  expected  to  rise  on  the 
next  tone.  In  primitive  music  (as  above  noted)  it  is  quite  common  for  the 
melody  to  start  on  a  high  pitch,  even  the  highest  tone  that  appears  in  the 
melody  at  all,  in  which  case  a  descent  to  lower  tones  would  be  definitely 
expected.  Since  all  such  music  is  vocal,  the  range  of  the  voice  has 
much  to  do  with  these  conditions. 

c.  In  modern  music  there  is  the  far  greater  range  of  instruments 
that  afi'ects  the  situation  regarding  expectation  of  tones  to  succeed 
the  first,  and  naturally  in  all  succeeding  movement  of  melody.  As  a 
full  discussion  in  detail  of  all  these  possibilities  would  lead  us  too  far 
afield,  we  must  content  ourselves  with  a  sort  of  average,  making  due 
allowances  for  limitations  or  extensions  according  to  circumstances. 

a.  For  the  sake  of  following  some  natural  order,  we  may  consider 
first  melodies  that  begin  with  the  tonic.  If  this  is  of  rather  low  pitch 
a  higher  tone  will  be  expected  to  follow.  But  certain  general  restrictions 
may  be  noted.  Any  tone  beyond  the  octave  would  be  felt  as  a  distinct 
surprise,  the  higher  the  more  of  a  shock.  Within  the  octave  7  would 
be  least  expected,  especially  for  essential  melody,  though  it  would  be 
less  of  a  surprise  as  a  mere  transition.     Of  the  remaining  tones  of  the 


20 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music        

scale  4  and  6  have  a  less  degree  of  expectation  than  3,  5,  or  2,  and 
these  three  are  not  far  apart.  The  octave  is  hardly  expected,  unless 
it  be  as  an  essential  after  some  transitional  tones.  Of  the  lower 
octave  7,  only  a  semitone  removed  from  the  tonic,  has  about  the  same 
degree  of  expectation  as  4  and  6  above,  while  tones  of  still  lower 
pitch — like  6  or  5  below  the  tonic — recede  in  degree  of  expectation, 
principally  because  with  the  voice  they  reach  nearer  the  limit  of 
range.  If  now  the  melody  begins  at  the  octave  there  is  quite  a  change 
in  the  situation.  The  7th  then  may  readily  be  anticipated,  though 
not  quite  as  easily  as  5;  3  is  not  far  behind;  then  next  in  degree  of 
expectation  follow  6,  4,  2  in  that  order.  The  tonic,  at  the  remove  of 
an  octave,  is  less  within  the  range  of  expectation,  while  any  tone  below 
would  have  the  effect  of  a  surprise,  as  much  so  as  the  corresponding 
leap  upward  when  the  melody  began  with  the  tonic.  As  the  tonic  is 
higher  in  pitch,  in  other  tonalities,  certain  analogous  changes  of  ex- 
pectation would  result. 

This  is  as  convenient  a  point  as  any  to  consider  a  question  that 
may  already  have  risen,  namely,  how  does  the  listener  know  on  hear- 
ing the  first  tone  of  a  melody  whether  it  is  the  tonic  or  any  other? 
Nothing  can  be  definitely  settled  until  the  next  tone  or  several  tones 
are  heard,  and  a  succession  noted.  The  answer  is  that  the  ear  ac- 
customed to  melody  has  quite  a  definite  series  of  expectations  with 
regard  to  the  first  tone,  which  then  react  in  turn  on  the  next  to  follow. 
As  presented  here,  the  statement  of  this  series  is  based  on  an  actual 
examination  of  over  two  thousand  melodies,  ranging  from  Bach  to 
Grieg,  Brahms,  Liszt  and  Saint-Saens  in  time,  and  including  all  classes 
of  music.  Fugitive  pieces,  suites,  sonatas  and  symphonies,  as  well  as 
chamber  music  in  sonata  form,  represent  the  instrumental  melodies; 
while  for  voice,  there  were  included  folksongs  (some  as  far  back  as 
the  thirteenth  century),  chorales  and  other  church  melodies,  anthems, 
cantatas,  oratorios  and  a  variety  of  songs.  The  results  of  this  statistical 
investigation  differed  in  certain  details  from  a  priori  judgment  but  con- 
firmed it  in  the  main.  Of  the  melodies  inspected  over  96  per  cent, 
begin  with  one  of  the  three  tones  of  the  tonic  chord,  i.  e.,  with  1, 
5  or  3.  Because  of  the  importance  of  the  tonic  in  our  modern  system, 
especially  from  Bach  down,  I  had  fully  expected  1  to  stand  in  the  lead: 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  in  the  lead  in  the  works  of  Bach  so  far  as 
examined,  nearly  twice  as  frequent  as  5  in  the  organ  works,  and  in 
about  the  same  proportion  in  the  preludes  and  fugues  of  the  "Well- 
tempered  Clavichord."  But  in  his  lighter  pieces  and  suites  for  piano 
there  are  more  of  5  and  3  in  proportion,  and  in  subsequent  composers 
5  is  far  in  the  lead  as  compared  with  1.  But  one  point  seems  to  be 
conclusively  established,  namely,  that  the  first  tone  of  a  melody  is 
expected  to  be  some  member  of  the  tonic  triad,  and  in  that  triad 
3  is  less  expected  than  5  or  1.  The  latter  two  together  make  up 
slightly  over  75  per  cent  of  the  total,  while  3  is  21 K  per  cent — with 
a  tendency  to  increase  in  the  modern  music.  The  tone  5  increased 
heavily  over  1  in  later  music,  so  that  in  the  totals  it  shows  just  about 
40  per  cent  as  compared  with  35  and  a  fraction  per  cent  for  1.  In 
music  since  Bach  this  proportion  would  be  not  far  from  43  per  cent, 
for  5  as  against  32  per  cent  for  1,  or  about  in  the  ratio  of  II  to  8. 
We  may  fairly  regard  the  actual  usage  of  composers  as  reflecting 
the  mental  attitude  of  the  mUsic-loving  public,  and  on  the  basis 
of  the  above  statistical  study  the  inference  is  that  the  first  tone  of 
a  melody  is  in  general  expected  to  be  a  5  or  1  or  3,  in  order  of  degree 
of  expectation — 1,  of  course,  including  8,  as  both  the  others  include 
their  respective  octaves.  In  this  conclusion  it  is  not  necessary  to  in- 
clude any  consciousness  on  the  part  of  the  listener  of  what  he  expects, 


Melody 21 

as,  in  fact,  much  of  expectation  in  all  musical  experience  is  subicona- 
cious.  Of  the  remaining  tones  of  the  j:calc,  6  and  2  arc  just  about 
equally  frequent;  half  as  frequent  are  7,  4  (about  equal  to  each  other.) 
That  is,  the  accustomed  ear  would  expect  the  first  tone  of  a  melody 
to  be  any  other  tone  of  the  scale  before  4  or  7.  To  this  may  be  added 
three  remarks.  First,  in  any  case  of  repetition  of  the  melody,  there 
is  at  once  renewed  expectation  as  regards  initial  tones.  Second,  the 
degree  of  expectation  of  any  initial  tone  unites  with  that  of  the  next 
fallowing  to  heighten  expectation  of  tones  in  later  succession.  And 
third,  in  a  vast  number  of  cases  a  prelude  or  previous  setting  gives 
sufficient  indication  of  tonality  to  fix  expectation.  But  what  was 
predicated  as  to  expectation  regarding  the  initial  tone  must  not  be 
understood  as  implying  that  ultra  modem  composers  observe  that 
order:  merely  this,  that  in  so  far  as  they  deviate  from  it,  at  the  present 
stage  of  musical  development  of  the  average  audience,  they  excite 
varying  degrees  of  surprise.  There  are  certain  outside  limits,  however, 
more  or  less  vaguely  defined,  beyond  which  not  even  the  boldest  dare 
venture.  No  writer  for  the  piano,  for  instance,  would  begin  a  melody 
with  either  the  highest  or  lowest  tone  of  that  instrument,  nor  would 
a  writer  for  the  voice  compel  the  performer  to  strain  the  vocal  cords 
to  the  limit  on  the  initial  tone  of  a  melody.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  say  that  I  cannot  include,  when  speaking  of  expectation  as  developed 
in  melody,  those  composers  for  whom  melody  in  general  is  an  evidence 
of.  reactionary  tendency  in  music,  and  who  never  deign  to  introduce 
genuine  melodies  at  any  point  in  their  compositions.  The  future  may 
be  theirs;  the  present  certainly  is  not.  From  the  extreme  limits  above 
indicated,  for  piano  or  voice  respectively,  we  might  move  up  or  down 
toward  the  central  range  of  each,  and  finally  reach  a  tone  which  would 
mark  the  outside  limit  of  adventure  in  beginning  a  melody,  the  greatest 
allowable  shock  of  surprise. 

But  it  is  possible  in  our  system  of  music  to  go  outside  of  the  list 
of  tones  in  the  scale  to  continue  a  melody;  we  can  resort  to  the  semi- 
tones between  consecutive  whole  tones  of  the  scale.  The  term  "acci- 
dentals" used  for  these  as  they  occur  in  music,  is  in  so  far  appropriate 
that  such  a  semi-tone  is  almost  invariably  not  an  essential  tone  in 
the  melod}-,  but  a  transitional  tone  preliminary  to  the  next  following 
tone  of  the  scale  which  is  essential.  Here  again,  the  extreme  modern- 
ists, with  their  disregard  of  tonality,  are  a  law  to  themselves;  but  they 
cannot  legislate  for  an  unsophisticated  public  nor  for  psychological 
analysis.  A  study  of  their  work  along  the  same  line  as  the  present 
cannot  be  undertaken  until  a  constituency  is  habituated  to  the  point 
of  really  developing  expectation  of  a  new  kind. 

But  all  these  expectations  are  readjusted  when  the  initial  tone 
of  the  melody  is  other  than  the  tonic.  In  case  it  is  2,  with  a  tonic 
of  low  pitch,  expectation  of  4  and  6  stands  on  a  higher  level,  though 
not  as  high  as  that  of  3  or  5  or  the  tonic.  The  7  below  the  toriic 
may  readily  be  anticipated,  not  so  readily  the  octave  7  or  9;  while 
farther  leaps  would  be  more  surprising.  In  proportion  as  in  other 
tonalities  2  has  higher  absolute  pitch,  we  find  changes  corresponding 
to  those  above  suggested  when  the  tonic  is  higher.  Tones  below  the 
tonic  are  brought  within  the  range  of  expectation,  while  tones  above 
the  octave  recede  in  the  same  proportion.  What  was  said  above  on 
semi-tones  applies  equally  in  this  case;  and  it  should  also  be  noted 
that  2  as  the  initial   tone  of  a   melody  is  frequently  non-essential. 

The  3rd,  being  a  member  of  the  tonic  triad,  very  frequently  begins 
a  melody.  When  the  tonic  is  of  low  pitch,  expectation  of  the  next 
following  tone  would  bring  the  other  tones  of  the  scale  in  approximately 
the  following  order:  tonic,  5,  2  (these  three  with  little  divergence), 
4,  6   (not  far   apart),   next   the  octave   and '7   below   tonic,   and  last 


22 The  Role  OF  Expectation  IN  Music 

7.  Other  tones  below  the  tonic  and  those  above  the  octave  recede 
in  proportion  to  distance.  2,  4  and  6  are  far  more  frequent  as  non- 
essential than  otherwise.  The  relation  of  the  accidental  semi-tones 
is  somewhat  altered  here.  2#  and  1#  are  felt  to  be  satisfactory, 
though  less  so  as  essential  tones;  4ft,  5#,  6#  are  about  at  the  limits 
of  the  range  of  expectation,  even  as  non-essentials,  5ft  and  6ft  being 
unexpected  because  they  seem  to  be  preliminary  to  dependent  tones, 
6  and  7;  yet  the  same  two  may  be  taken  as  6b  or  7b  respectively, 
in  which  case  the  former  rises  in  degree  of  expectation.  When  the 
tonic  is  of  higher  pitch  further  tones  below  come  more  within  range 
of  expectation.  So  the  5  below  is  of  very  frequent  occurrence  as  the 
second  tone  of  a  melody  beginning  with  3.  Other  tones  of  the  lower 
octave  recede  as  in  cases  above  in  proportion  to  the  span  of  the 
interval,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  upper  octave. 

Assuming  next  4  as  the  initial  tone,  3  is  the  tone  most  definitely 
expected  to  follow,  largely  because  of  the  half-step  at  that  point  in 
the  scale.  Next  to  3  in  range  of  expectation  come  6,  2,  7  (below  the 
tonic),  the  tonic  or  its  octave,  then  rather  low  in  degree  of  expectation 
9,  7  and  5  last.  There  is  here  a  marked  re-adjustment  of  accidental 
semi -tones;  some  that  follow  3  or  the  tonic  quite  naturally  are  in  this 
instance  on  the  border  line.  And  hardly  any  can  follow  as  an  essential, 
and  not  more  than  two  or  three  as  transitional  (5ft  as  leading  to  6,  7  b 
with  the  same  tendency,  1ft  leading  to  2).  But  one  peculiar  feature 
is  the  barrier  that  seems  to  separate  4  from  5  as  initial  and  second 
tones  of  a  melody.  I  do  not  now  recall  any  such  beginning  of  a 
melody,  though  5  may  serve  as  transitional  to  6  or  even  3.  Doubtless 
the  status  of  these  two  tones,  4  and  5,  as  bases  of  two  of  the  major 
triads  in  the  scale  has  some  influence.  As  the  tonality  is  transferred 
to  a  higher  pitch  the  5  below  is  quite  possible,  the  4  then  taking  its 
place  in  a  dominant  chord  as  7th;  6  of  the  lower  octave  is  easily  in 
range.  Lower  tones  as  well  as  higher  follow  about  the  course  indicated 
in  the  case  of  3  and  2  as  initial  tones. 

Coming  now  to  5  as  initial  tone,  with  tonic  of  low  pitch,  we  find 
a  situation  differing  totally  from  that  of  the  last-named  assumption. 
In  this  case  the  tonic  or  its  octave,  3  and  its  octave,  may  any  one  of 
them  follow  with  about  equal  ease  of  expectation,  while  the  next  group 
is  not  far  behind,  viz:  2  and  7  either  above  or  below  the  tonic,  6  and  4. 
Two  peculiarities  of  5  stand  out  here.  First:  the  melody  can  pass  from 
it  to  4  with  ease  and  satisfaction,  but  cannot  reverse  the  movement 
at  the  beginning.  And  second:  this  tone,  5,  is  the  most  indeterminate 
initial  tone  of  a  melody  that  can  be  chosen.  It  belongs  to  the  tonic 
triad  and  is  itself  the  base  of  the  so-called  dominant  triad,  which  in- 
cludes the  leading  tone  of  the  scale,  and  also  builds  with  4  (above 
octave)  the  dominant  seventh  chord.  Thus  it  looks  in  all  directions 
from  a  sort  of  central  eminence  and  no  one  can  tell  which  way  the 
melody  starting  there  is  going  to  leap.  Moreover,  all  the  accidental 
semi-tones  follow  readily,  even  in  some  cases  as  essentials,  in  the  same 
degree  of  expectation  approximately  as  the  nearest  tone  of  the  scale. 
As  the  tonic  is  higher  in  pitch  (in  another  tonality)  the  tones  below  it 
rise  more  above  the  threshold  of  expectation  until  5  is  reached,  i.  e., 
the  lower  octave  of  the  initial  tone  itself;  beyond  that  there  is  little 
expectation.  If  the  tonic  is  high  enough  (and  often  even  when  it  is 
low)  5  below  is  frequently  used  for  initial  tone  and  has  a  wide  range 
of  choice  within  the  range  of  an  octave;  beyond  that  the  leap  would 
occasion  surprise.  The  tonic  itself  is  of  most  frequent  occurrence, 
3  either  above  or  below  follows  close  behind,  and  2,  6,  7  and  4  (the 
last  either  above  or  below  the  tonic)  do  not  lag  far  behind.  The  ac- 
cidental semi-tones  stand  in  about  the  same  order  as  when  5  above 
the  tonic  w,as  the  initial*  tone. 


Meldoy 23 

After  what  was  said  about  the  dependent  character  of  6  it  will 
be  readily  seen  that  the  position  it  occupies  as  candidate  for  the  initial 
tone  is  wholly  diflercnt  from  that  of  5.  It  is  practically  a  non-essential 
that  tends  either  down  to  an  essential  5  or  up  to  an  essential  8  (through 
7).  The  melody  may  rise  to  7  quite  readily  or  descend  to  2,  or  7 
below  the  tonic.  The  latter  and  4  have  about  equal  expectation, 
3  a  little  less,  but  9  and  11  (all  above  the  octave)  are  readily  anticipatc<l. 
These  latter  recede  as  the  pitch  of  the  tonic  rises,  while  6  below 
(lower  octave  of  the  initial  tone)  comes  within  range.  But  in  both 
cases  3  or  its  octave  10  are  rather  low  in  degree  of  expectation,  doubt- 
less because  they  are  too  suggestive  of  the  minor,  where  they  become 
the  corresponding  equivalent  of  5  of  the  major  scale  and  are  accordingly 
high  in  degree  of  expectation.  The  use  of  accidental  semi-tones  after 
6  remains  fairly  free,  but  they  are  almost  invariably  transitional, 
heightening  expectation  of  the  next  essential  melodic  tone  to  follow, 
which  it  merely  postpones  just  so  long. 

The  remaining  tone  of  the  scale,  7,  is  even  less  used  than  6  as 
an  initial  tone  of  a  melody,  and  is  just  as  apt  to  be  a  non-essential. 
The  tone  most  definitely  expected  to  follow  it  is  the  octave,  a  semi- 
tone above;  but  the  tonic  itself  is  almost  out  of  range.  There  is  very 
little  expectation  of  4,  not  much  more  of  its  octave  11;  3  is  rare, 
yet  not  beyond  range;  2,  6,  9,  10  and  5  stand  in  about  that  order 
but  not  very  high.  In  case  of  a  higher  pitched  tonic  there  is  little 
change  in  the  relative  standing;  some  below  the  tonic  rise  above  the 
threshold  of  expectation,  while  some  above  recede.  An  accidental 
has  about  the  same  relation  as  after  6  as  initial  tone. 

If  now  the  melody  begins  with  one  of  these  same  semi-tones 
l\ing  between  tones  of  the  scale,  that  initial  tone  is  very  apt  to  be 
a  non-essential.  The  direction  which  the  melod}'-  takes  with  the  next 
following  tone,  whether  to  the  tone  below  or  to  the  one  above,  depends 
on  which  of  these  is  to  be  the  first  essential  tone.  2b  descends  to 
tonic,  whereas  Iji  ascends  to  2;  the  movement  from  3b  and  2^  is  to 
2  and  3  respectively.  5b  is  hardly  a  possibility  (except  in  modernist 
composers),  but  4??  leads  to  5  and  is  not  uncommon.  6!>  and  5#  lead 
to  5  and  6  respectively,  7!>  and  6|r  to  6  and  7  respectively,  (last  hardly 
possible).  In  the  case  of  6  and  7  both  initial  and  next  following  are 
liable  to  be  non-essential. 

To  turn  now  briefly  to  the  minor  scale:  it  is  6  that  usurps  most 
of  the  functions  of  the  tonic  and  may  be  regarded  from  the  stand- 
point of  psychology  as  equivalent  in  its  effect  to  the  tonic.  The  essential 
difference  of  this  scale  from  the  major  is  the  lower  pitch  of  3  (by  a 
semi-tone),  and  it  is  on  this  point  that  expectation  is  focussed.  As 
established  in  modern  music,  the  pitch  of  6  (from  minor  tonic)  is  the 
same  as  in  the  major  or  a  semi-tone  lower,  according  as  the  movement 
is  up  or  down  respectively.  7  has  usually  the  same  relation  to  the 
tonic  (as  leading  tone)  as  in  the  major  scale.  Aside  from  these  differ- 
ences, which  lead  to  their  own  series  of  expectations,  there  will  be  a 
general  correspondence  as  to  the  nature  of  initial  succession  of  tones 
in  a  melody.  But  one  interesting  fact  bearing  on  our  discussion 
deserves  to  be  noted.  A  composer  often  purposely  postpones  defining 
his  tonality  (whether  major  or  mmor".  until  expectation  is  raised  to  a 
considerable  intensity.  He  begins  the  melody  on  5  empty  of  harmony, 
and  follows  it  with  tones  that  would  fit  in  with  either  major  or  minor.* 
It  might  be  objected  at  this  point  that  to  one  who  is  famililar  with 
the  composition  there  is  no  longer  any  expectation  or  surprise.  Grant- 
ed; but  the  fact  remains  even  after  familiarity  has  dulled  the  edge  of 
expectation,   a  large  element   in   our  enjoyment  of  the  composition  is 

•Beethoven  at  beginning  of  Fifth  Symphony"   and  Sonata  No.  26.-^ 


24 The  Role  of  Expectation  ik  Music 

the  result  of  the  expectation  and  surprise,  the  relaxation  following 
upon  tension,  that  entered  into  it  as  an  original  factor.  It  is  analogous 
to  the  well-known  fact  in  an  illusion  of  sense;  it  takes  effect  even 
when  the  subject  knows  it  is  an  illusion.  But  this  point  will  find  fuller 
illustration  in  the  chapter  on  harmony. 

The  whole  situation  is  at  once  complicated  and  yet  rendered  more 
definite  when  we  pass  on  to  consider  possible  expectation  following 
two  essential  tones  at  the  beginning  of  a  melody.  It  will  be  impossible 
to  discuss  all  such  expectation  or  even  to  enumerate  them.  It  may 
suffice  us  to  point  out  certain  general  principles  of  limitation  within 
which  expectaton  moves  and  analyze  certain  typical  or  characteristic 
cases. 

1)  The  two  tones  must  be  in  some  time  relation  to  each  other, 
and  to  the  scheme  of  the  piece,  i.  e.,  they  start  a  rhythmic  pattern, 
and  that  may  in  many  instances  turn  expectation  one  way  or  the  other. 
This  will  appear  repeatedly  in  examples  cited.  Much  depends  also 
on  whether  the  initial  tone  is  accented  or  not,  and  on  the  way  the 
next  following  joins  on. 

2)  When  the  second  tone  of  the  melody  is  adjacent  to  the  initial 
tone,  it  starts  a  movement  of  the  melody  either  up  or  down  the  scale, 
that  rouses  considerable  expectation  of  a  continuation  in  the  same 
direction.  This  is  especially  the  case  if  the  second  of  the  two  is  an 
unaccented  short  tone.  With  a  different  rhythmic  arrangement  the 
same  succession  up  or  down  is  wholly  satisfactory,  but  a  departure 
from  it  is  less  noticeable. 

3)  If  the  first  two  are  tones  of  a  triad,  especially  the  tonic  triad, 
expectation  of  the  third  tone  of  the  triad  is  quite  definite;  the  same 
rhythmic  relation  as  was  suggested  under  2)  helps  to  heighten  expecta- 
tion, but  this  is  not  confined  to  any  one  rhythmic  pattern.  Nor  is 
the  expectation  developed  so  strong  as  to  occasion  any  marked  surprise 
at  a  deviation. 

4)  When  the  second  tone  is  an  accidental  it  is  usually  (as  above 
suggested)  a  non-essential  transition  tone.  Its  function  then  is  to  height- 
en expectation  of  the  next  essential  tone  of  the  melody.  A  fine  example 
of  this  is  Wolfram's  song  in  praise  of  pure  love  in  Tannhauser.^^ 
The  real  movement  of  the  melody  is  1-3-5-8,  the  tonic  triad,  followed 
by  the  octave.  But  the  composer,  by  the  intervention  of  2#,  postpones 
the  next  tone  of  the  triad  and  increases  our  pleasure  at  hearing  it. 
But  then,  instead  of  proceeding  at  once  to  5,  he  postpones  that  as 
well  by  rising  to  6  from  which  we  again  expect  to  descend  to  .5; 
some  composers  would  have  made  the  mistake  of  trying  to  increase 
our  enjoyment  of  the  octave  by  a  similar  device,  but  Wagner  lets  it 
stand  clear  on  its  own  merits,  so  to  speak,  and  it  gives  the  effect  of 
virile  honesty  fitting  the  character. 

5)  When  the  melody  starts  on  some  tone  not  in  the  tonic  triad, 
expectation  is  normally  developed  of  an  eventual  return  to  some  tone 
of  that  triad.  The  third  tone  of  the  series,  or  in  fact  all  three  of 
them  may  be  selected  for  the  express  purpose  of  intensifying  such 
expectation,  and  so  securing  greater  pleasure  of  relief  when,  at  last, 
the  tonic  triad  is  reached,  or  interest  of  surprise  if  it  is  evaded.  A 
similar  movement  often  is  introduced  in  the  course  of  a  melody;  a 
pause  on  some  tone  not  in  the  tonic  triad  makes  us  look  forward  to  a 
subsequent  pause  on  a  tone  of  that  triad,  which  causes  high  degree  of 
satisfaction. 

6)  The  initial  tone  may  be  merely  repeated,  a  case  which  was 
not  included  in  the  discussion  above.  In  that  case  the  melody  has 
about  as  wide  a  latitude  for  the  third  tone  as  when -following  the  initial 
tone.    If  the  repeated  tone  is  in   the  rhythmic  relation  mentioned  in 


Melody 25 

2}  above,  it  is  transitional  in  character,  and  for  our  purposes  may  be 
disregarded;  it  hardly  modifies  expectation  one  way  or  the  other. 

7)  There  is  the  same  limitation  as  above  on  extended  leaps 
reaching  an  octave  or  over,  the  greater  the  leap,  the  less  it  isi  ex- 
pected and  the  greater  the  surprise.  When  rcsorteil  to  in  compositoiis 
for  the  voice,  they  conduce  sometimes  to  a  humorous  effect.  But  tihey 
are  much  more  frequent  in  compositions  for  instruments — includng,, 
of  course,  combinations  like  the  orchestra.  The  modernist  composers 
are  far  more  free  in  the  use  of  such  extended  intervals  than  the  earlier 
composers,  though  some  are  to  be  found  in  the  classics.  But  as  it 
took  long  periods  of  time  for  the  average  music-lover,  who  was  habituat- 
ed to  the  longer  unfilled  intervals  of  the  pentatonic  scale  (or  still 
earlier  forms),  to  learn  the  superior  pleasure  of  the  short  intervals 
of  semi-tones  that  appear  in  the  diatonic  scale,  so  it  will  not  be  a 
short  process  to  one  feeling  that  pleasure  to  learn  to  enjoy  the  great 
leaps   we   find   in   the   modernists. 

S)  Certain  sequences  arc  especially  frequent  in  the  cadence. 
The  most  common  is  .3-2-1  in  many  varieties  of  rhythmic  arrangement.  The 
composer  Handel,  uses  this  sequence  repeatedly  in  all  kinds  of  composi- 
tions. The  3  of  this  sequence  is  sometimes  preceded  by  4^*,  sometimes 
by  8-'  or  1,  occasionally  by  5;  it  is  almost  invariably  characterized 
by  tonic  chord  on  the  3  with  5  of  that  chord  as  the  bass.  This  position 
of  the  chord  cannot  serve  as  final  and  of  itself  rouses  expectation  of 
the  dominant  chord  to  follow;  this  again  strengthens  expectation  of  2 
in  the  melody,  and  when  4  is  heard  as  the  dominant  seventh  expecta- 
tion is  thoroughly  confident  of  tonic  (or  1)  in  the  melody  as  the  closing 
tone.  The  same  cadence  is  found  in  Haydn,  but  he  uses  quite  a 
variety,  one  which  has  since  been  used  often;  5-6-7-8,'*  the  same 
sequence  that  is  so  frequent  in  both  Haydn  and  Mozart,^'  (also  earlier 
works  of  Beethoven)  as  a  sort  of  flourish  just  before  a  pause.  As 
suggested  before,  the  introduction  of  7  as  the  leading  tone  made  the 
rising  cadence  possible  and  quite  satisfactory.  In  this  particular  case 
the  dominant  harmony  is  usually  sustained  after  6  is  heard  in  the 
melody,  rousing  expectation  of  7  to  follow  as  belonging  with  that 
chord.  With  7  is  heard  usually  the  full  dominant  seventh  chord,  and 
whatever  position  it  takes,  the  tonic  is  fully  expected  to  close  the 
cadence.  Both  of  these  sequences  with  numerous  variations  have 
maintained  themselves  to  the  present  day  and  still  satisfj'.  One 
much  more  modern  sequence  reverses  the  order  of  the  first  of  the  two 
above  specified,  making  a  rising  cadence  1-2-3.  Gounod  has  used 
this  several  times,  notably  in  the  closing  chorus  of  his  "Redemption;"-* 
expectation  of  3  after  2  is  heightened  by  emphasizing  the  dominant 
seventh  chord  (or  some  chord  with  a  sharper  dissonance)  with  2  so 
that  3  with  tonic  harmony  is  welcome.  Another  cadence  very  fre- 
quent in  Beethoven,  2-1,  with  a  pause  on  2,  will  be  discussed  later 
(v.  Ill,  7  (b)  below).  The  sequence  7-1  (or  7-8)  preceded  by  5  or  11 
or  9  (or  4  or  2  or  1)  is  fairly  frequent. 

Another  that  has  been  popularized  and  sterotyped  to  the  point 
of  affectation  is  in  intent  a  prolonging  of  suspense  by  postponing  the 
inevitable  tonic,  but  in  effect  it  is  a  display  of  vocal  powers  on  a  high 
tone  with  suspense  in  reality  eliminated  because  expectation  is  at  the 
point  of  certainty.  This  cadence  is  7-9-8,-'  with  dominant  seventh 
harmony  on  both  7  and  9.  and  a  pause  on  9.     An  alternate  is  5-9-8. 

b.  To  what  has  already  been  said  as  to  the  extent  of  intervals 
expected  at  the  beginning  of  a  melody,  a  few  further  points  may  be 
added  as  to  intervals  in  the  further  flow  of  the  melody.  .  A  succession 
of  wide  leaps  without  intermediate  steps  at  any  point  would  occasion 
marked  surprise,  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  shock  would  be  pleasur- 


26 The  Role  of  Expectation  ik  Music ^ 

able.  In  those  melodies  in  common  use  in  which  the  interval  of  an 
octave  appears,  it  is  almost  invariably  preceded  or  followed  (or  both) 
by  shorter  intervals.  Bach  makes  use  of  intervals  of  nearly  an  octave 
quite  frequently  and  in  one  instance  at  least  gives  a  shock  or  surprise 
by  the  sequence  2-7-1;'*  in  this  case  the  melody  rises  from  2  to  the 
leading  tone,  which  raises  full  expectation  of  the  octave,  but  he  disap- 
points us  by  dropping  to  the  tonic.  In  his  Db  Fugue  (Well-tempered 
Clav.  Book  1)'^  for  piano,  the  same  sequence  excites  less  surprise 
than  it  does  for  the  voice.  Beethoven  in  a  song  lets  the  melody 
leap  from  the  tonic  to  10,  taking  a  new  start,  as  it  were;  but  he  follows 
it  up  with  diatonic  intervals  down  to  7.^^  In  the  Gloria  of  the  Missa 
Solemnis,  he  lets  the  voice  leap  from  the  octave  of  5  to  5  and  again 
from  there  to  the  tonic.''  But  he  leads  up  to  the  highest  tone  with 
a  series  of  chromatic  intervals.  But  both  these  writers  are  wisely 
economical  in  the  use  of  such  leaps  and  sequences,  as  well  as  in  the  use 
of  marked  shocks  of  surprise  generally. 

Certain  melodic  sequences  may  be  pointed  out  which  indicate 
by  their  frequent  use,  even  in  some  of  the  modernist  composers,  a  sort 
of  universal  appeal. 

1)  1-2-2-3  is  a  great  favorite.  The  reversal,  3-2-2-1,  or  a  similar 
movement  at  any  part  of  the  scale,  are  equally  popular.  It  is  to  be 
found  in  such  diverse  types  of  music  as  the  following:  No.  American 
Indian,'''  Beethoven,'*  Rheinberger,'*  Max  Reger."  Its  charm  is 
due  in  large  measure  to  the  postponement  and  thus  heightened  ex- 
pectation of  3,  or  whichever  tone  happens  to  be  last  in  the  series 
by  repeating  2  or  the  corresponding  tone. 

2)  Another  almost  as  popular  sequence  is  5  (below  tonic)  -1-2-3, 
with  or  without  transition  tones  that  postpone  3  and  thus  heighten 
expectation  of  it.  Beethoven  uses  this  with  profound  effect  in  the 
Andante  of  both  Second'*  and  Fifth"  Symphonies.  Brahms  has  it 
in  both  Andante*"  and  Finale**  of  the  F.  min.  Sonata,  in  other 
piano  compositions,  and  in  songs,*-  with  varieties  of  postponing  notes 
and  rhythm;  also  in  reverse  order.  Max  Reger  uses  it.*'  In  fact, 
it  is  of  such  frequent  use  in  both  rising  and  falling  sequence  with 
great  variety  of  transformation  in  composers  of  widely  different  type 
that  the  expectation  involved  is  evidently  of  a  highly  pleasurable  charac- 
ter. The  interval  5-8  (or  its  equivalent)  is  itself  grateful,  and  the  two 
tones  of  the  tonic  triad  rouse  expectation  of  the  remaining  tone  3. 
But  the  interposition  of  2  serves  to  heighten  this  expectation  and  3 
is  then  especially  pleasurable.  2|t  as  a  transitional  tone  is  often  in- 
serted and  serves  to  still  further  intensify  expectation.  As  a  figure 
extending  in  passages  up  and  down  the  piano,  Chopin  is  quite  fond 
of  it.     It  is  almost  equally  common  in  minor  and  major. 

3)  A  scale  passage  or  a  figure  approximating  the  diatonic  or 
minor  succession  of  tones  raises  pretty  definite  expectation  in  the 
direction  of  movement.  In  some  cases  the  surprise  comes  from  a 
sudden  interruption  before  it  seemed  due  to  stop,  sometimes  from 
continuing  it  beyond  expectation.  Chopin  has  several  instances  of  the 
latter  with  tricky  modifications  of  sequences.  He  uses  also  numerous 
figurations  that  depart  more  radically  still  from  the  scale  sequences; 
each  of  these  as  it  continues  and  is  resumed  from  time  to  time  excites 
the  same  sort  of  expectation  which  becomes  more  fixed  with  each 
repetition. 

4)  The  sequence  7-6-5  with  varieties  of  harmony  and  rhythm  is 
evidently  grateful.  The  tendency  of  melodic  movement  is  from  7, 
the  leading  tone,  to  the  octave;  the  movement  downward  to  6  gives 
the  effect  of  an  evasion  and  heightens  expectation  of  5  to  follow. 
Certain  harmonies  can  reduce  this  expectation  to  a  practical  certainty.** 
The  reverse  of  this  has  a  totally  different  effect. 


Melody 27 

5)  In  popular  music  hardlj-  any  melodic  sequence  har,  seen  such 
wear  and  tear  as  3-4-4#-5."  The  natural  interval  3-5  is  filled  in  with  4;  the 
upward  movement  thus  started  rouses  high  expectation  of  5,  but  that 
tone  is  postponed  by  the  insertion  of  the  semi-tone,  which  intensifies 
expectation  of  5  and  makes  it  grateful  relief.  This  sequence  may  be 
reversed  with  a  somewhat  similar  effect,  but  it  is  not  in  such  common 
use. 

6)  A  sequence  made  famous  by  Wagner  as  the  slumber  motive 
in  the  magic  fire  music,*"  namely  6-5-3,  is  exceedingly  pleasing,  and 
almost  as  frequent  as  the  preceding.  It  is  susceptible  of  any  rhythmic 
treatment,  but  like  4)  above,  the  reverse  sequence  is  of  entirely  differ- 
ent efTect.  The  dominating  tone  in  this  is  3,  the  descent  to  which  from 
5 — even  without  intermediate  tones, — is  quite  in  keeping  witli  ex- 
pectation and  brings  out  the  psychological  value  of  3.  We  have  already 
seen  liow  readily  melody  passes  from  dependent  6  to  strong  5,  a 
descent  that  can  l)e  easily  postponed  with  resulting  increase  of  expecta- 
tion and  pleasure;  that  interval  from  5  to  3  with  its  calming  quality 
thus    becomes    particularly    pleasing. 

C.  The  psj'chological  value — what  a  recent  writer  in  the  Scientific 
MontJTly  terms  " tone-color "*^-of  the  several  tones  of  the  rliatonic 
scale  has  been  touched  on  incidentallj'  in  several  connections  already 
(a  and  b);  a  few  details  may  be  added  at  this  point.  Such  values 
grow  out  of  two  relations  in  which  each  tone  stands;  first  its  relation 
to  the  tonic  and  to  adjacent  tones,  and  second  its  suitability  to  serve 
as  the  final  tone  of  a  cadence.  3  and  5  being  tones  of  the  tonic 
triad  have  a  more  direct  connection  with  their  base  and  enjoy  a  cor- 
responding independence,  either  being  possible  as  final  tone  of  a  cadence. 
The  tonic  itself  is,  of  course,  most  satisfying  in  this  latter  position, 
3  next  because  of  the  semi-tone  4-3,  and  5  has  the  least  efTect  of  finality. 
When  5  is  thrust  into  this  final  position  it  is  almost  always  with  the 
full  step  6-5,  or  the  half  61>-5,  which  heightens  the  expectation  at  that 
point.  A  cadence  with  the  sequence  4-5  would  be  so  unexpected  as 
hardly  to  be  assimilated;  it  is  suggestive  of  the  Phrygian  mode  in 
Greek  music.  A  Hindu  melody  seemingly  fashioned  in  that  mode, 
contains  such  a  cadence,*^  which  is  enjoyed  by  the  musicians  of  that 
country.  The  quasi  barrier  between  4  and  5  referred  to  above  (6,a). 
seems  to  be  operative  at  the  cadence  as  well  as  at  the  beginning. 
But  no  tone  outside  of  this  triad  in  the  diatonic  scale  (and  the  cor- 
responding triad  in  the  minor  scale)  can  serve  as  final  in  a  cadence. 
Even  modernists  hesitate  to  infringe  on  this  custom — if  it  be  termed 
nothing  more.  (v.  also  III,  5,  below).  In  a  cadence  2  (or  9)  may  lead 
to  either  tonic  or  3,  the  former  being  more  solid  and  satisfying,  the 
latter  more  soothing.  2  itself  as  final  would  be  reminiscent  of  the 
Greek  minor  mode  known  as  the  Phrygian.  Another  approach  to  3 
as  final  is  from  4,  either  in  the  so-called  ecclesiastical  cadence  or  as 
the  7th  in  the  dominant  seventh  chord.  A  final  sequence  4-3-1  is 
quite  rare,  but  4-2-3  or  4-2-1  are  both  quite  common  and  according 
to  definite  expectation.  But  4  itself  as  final  in  a  cadence,  while  possible 
in  the  Greek  major  mode  called  the  Hypolydian,  is  practically  unknown 
in  diatonic  music.  A  cadence  on  6  is  at  once  interpreted  as  minor, 
where  6  becomes  the  equivalent  of  1.  It  can  serve  as  a  transition 
tone  for  cadence  either  on  5  direct  or  on  the  octave  through  7,  which 
is  wholly  satisfying  to  us,  though  hardly  known  in  pre-diatonic  melodies; 
the  half-step  7-8  is  what  makes  it  seem  complete.  For  further  dis- 
cussion of  cadence  as  affected  by  harmony,  v.  below,  III,  4  and  5. 

Now  this  psychological  value,  rising  out  of  the  relation  of  a  given 
tone   to   the    tonic   and    its    suitability    as    final    tone    in    a    cadence,  is 

*Dr.  J.  Proctor  Hall.  Sc.   Monthly  for  Feb..  1920;  pp  142-149. 


28 The  Role  of  Expectatiok  ik  Music 

determinative  to  a  large  extent  of  expectation  in  melodi*  sequence 
But  the  evidence  that  can  be  adduced  for  it  in  any  special  instance 
would  hardly  convince  the  non-musical  of  a  sceptical  turn  of  mind, 
though  the  musician  feels  it  as  a  primal  fact,  just  as  he  does  tonality 
in  a  composition.  Experimentation,  even  if  were  applicable,  could 
but  report  oti  the  habituation  of  various  subjects  without  furnishing 
convincing  evidence  of  the  ultimate  fact.  A  consensus  of  opinion  as  a 
result  of  a  questionnaire  would  do  little  more.  The  best  evidence  is 
in  an  analysis  of  the  actual  use  made  by  composers  of  all  types 
of  the  various  tones  to  secure  the  aesthetic  or  even  sensuous  pleasure 
they  all  aim  to  create  in  the  listener.  In  a  large  majority  of  cases 
it  is  quite  out  of  the  question  to  assume  that  the  composers  themselves 
were  conscious  of  discerning  any  psychological  value  in  the  notes  they 
wrote;  if  asked  why,  they  would  either  turn  from  the  question  with 
a  sort  of  contempt,  or  answer  that  those  tones  gave  them  pleasure, 
seemed  indicated  as  suitable,  or  the  like.  An  analogous  inquiry  is  to 
ask  a  poet  why  he  chose  certain  sequences  of  words  or  rhymes  or 
rhythms;  he  would  be  the  last  to  explain  why,  on  any  psychological 
grounds. 

From  the  use  of  5  in  music  it  stands  out  as  the  tone  of  confidence, 
brilliant  self-assertion,  as  of  a  bold  venture  forth,  even  though  there 
must  be  a  return  somehow  to  the  starting  point  of  the  tonic.  To  seek 
evidence  for  this  by  asking  a  number  of  people  taken  at  random  to 
intone  the  interv^al  l-o  vigorously  and  note  the  effect,  might  secure 
no  result  other  than  degree  of  habituation  to  the  effect  of  intervals. 
But  that  composers  feel  it  clearly  appears  from  the  following  facts. 
When  in  an  orchestra  a  full  volume  is  sought  the  5  is  most  frequently 
assigned  to  such  brilliantly  timbred  instruments  as  the  trumpet  or 
cornet.  This  is  even  more  the  rule  in  popular  music  (witness  the 
Sousa  marches  and  other  dance  music  passim!)  than  in  standard  writers, 
where  it  is  frequent  enough.  In  neither,  of  course,  was  it  chosen  with 
any  clear  thought  of  its  psychological  value,  but  this  was  felt  or  the  tone 
would  not  have  been  used.  Further  is  the  constant  use  of  5  in  popular 
and  pretentious  music  as  a  tone  to  pause  on  in  a  turn  of  the  melody, 
when  some  other  tone  would  be  more  consistent  in  melodic  sequence. 
There  is  corroboration  also  in  the  fact  pointed  out  above  that  when 
.5  is  the  initial  tone  of  a  melody  there  is  the  widest  range  of  expectation 
as  to  the  next  tone.  Moreover  (to  anticipate),  it  is  the  connecting 
link  in  harmony  between  the  two  more  important  triads,  tonic  and 
dominant,  being  base  of  the  latter.  And  finally,  primitive  man  in 
the  search  for  self-expression  through  the  medium  of  tone,  settled  on 
this  as  the  first  definite  interval,  the  tone  preliminary  to  all  the  series 
in  the  scale.  The  fact  that  mathcmaticallj^  it  represents  the  simplest 
ratio  to  the  tonic,  (3:2),  and  the  highest  degree  of  fusion  with  it  (stand- 
ing close  to  the  octave  in  this  respect),  doubtless  has  some  connection 
with  the  psychological  effect;  but  about  all  we  can  do  is  to  note 
the  two  parallel  facts. 

The  psychological  value  of  3  is  in  marked  contrast  to  5.  The 
difference  can  be  felt  most  clearl}'  by  intoning  the  interval  1-5  or  8-5 
vigorously,  and  then  follow  it  up  with  5-3  much  softer.  But  here 
again,  we  observe  the  use  made  by  composers  of  this  tone  of  the 
scale.  It  is  more  common  in  cradle  songs  and  other  music  intended 
to  soothe  and  calm.  Note  the  frequency  of  it  at  important  points 
(beginning,  modulations,  temporary  cadences)  in  the  cakning  Andante 
of  Beethoven's  Fifth.''*  Bach*'  and  many  later  composers  have  it  in 
lullabys.  Handel  substitutes  it  for  minor  in  his  "Dead  March."*"  But 
another  important  feature  is  that  it  gives  character  to  the  triad; 
omit  either  5  or  1  and  sound   the  other  tone  (1  or  5)  with  3  and  we 


Melody 29 

have  no  sense  of  emptiness  or  barrenness,  but  sound  1  and  5  together 
without  3  and  the  difference  is  very  marked.  This  fact  is  of  special 
importance  in  the  expectation  that  centers  upon  it. 

The  triad  that  has  5  as  its  base  includes  2,  which  bears  the  same 
relation  to  its  base  as  5  to  1;  but  its  value  in  the  diatonic  scale  results 
from  its  relation  to  the  adjacent  tones  1  and  li.  While  incapable  of 
serving  as  final  tone  in  a  cadence,  it  points  to  either  I  or  3  and  in 
eertain  sequences  raises  expectation  to  the  pitch  of  certainty  and 
corresponding  satisfaction.  Witness  the  long  cadence  to  the  first 
movement  in  Schumann's  Fantasie  Op.  17."'  The  melody  is  finding 
its  way  (and  we  with  it)  back  to  the  tonic,  as  in  many  similar  cases. 
The  value  thus  indicated  may  be  registered  in  consciousness  by  the 
following  experiment:  strike  together  1,  5  and  10  (preferably  in  low 
pitch)  several  times  and  note  the  grateful  relief  when  at  last  2  is 
replaced  by  1  or  3.*-  A  similar  relief  is  experienced  if  2  is  in  the 
melody  at  the  rhythmic  accent  in  a  cadence  and  the  expected  tonic  is 
postponed.     For  fuller  anaylsis  of  this  v.  Ill  7  b.  below. 

The  second  tone  of  the  dominat  triad,  7,  which  has  the  same  office 
here  as  3  has  in  the  tonic  triad,  was  not  in  use  until  long  after  the 
time  of  the  pentatonic  scale,  but  it  will  be  convenient  to  deal  with  it 
at  this  point.  It  serves  to  fill  in  the  long  interval  6-8  in  the  pentatonic 
scale,  just  as  prior  to  that  2  filled  in  1-3.  That  interval  6-8  is  not 
satisfactory  in  a  cadence,  but  the  intermediate  tone  7  provides  a  semi- 
tone 7-S  and  gives  definite  expectation  and  hence  is  more  satisfactory, 
expecially  since  it  leads  to  the  tonic  or  its  octave.  In  fact,  this  leading 
is  so  definite  that  7  when  sustained  (except  in  certain  pauses)  has  a 
quality  of  suspense  about  it  that  may  amount  to  irritation.* 

This  is  in  marked  contrast  to  the  quality  of  4,  which  is  sobering, 
not  to  .say  solemn.  It  is  the  base  of  the  remaining  major  triad,  of 
which  the  tonic  is  the  fifth,  and  this  relation  to  the  tonic  is  partly 
responsible  for  its  value  in  the  scale.  It  is  the  upper  tone  of  one  of 
the  two  half-steps  in  the  diatonic  scale,  but  that  does  not  qualify  ii 
to  serve  as  final  tone  in  a  cadence.  It  may  lead,  however,  to  a  cadence 
nearly  as  satisfactory'  as  that  introduced  by  7,  as  indicated  above, 
with  3  as  final  tone;  the  sequence  may  be  either  from  the  dominant 
seventh  chord  to  the  tonic  or  from  the  sub-dominant,  the  former  being 
a  more  perfect  cadence.  But  it  is  the  latter  that  exhibits  the  sober 
value  of  this  tone,  for  it  is  almost  universally  employed  in  church 
music  as  the  concluding  amen,  even  though  the  piece  (hymn  or  anthem) 
had  a  previous  cadence  from  the  leading  tone.  The  added  cadence 
from  4  seems  to  be  more  appropriate  to  the  solemn  mood  of  worship, 
to  restore  it.  Another  evidence  of  its  quality  is  that  the  calming 
trio  separating  two  brilliant  sections  of  a  march  or  minuet  or  other 
similar  composition  is  almost  invariably  a  modulation  to  4  as  the  new 
tonic.  A  modulation  to  5  would  be  a  decided  surprise  and  would  fail 
to  produce  the  sobering  or  quieting  effect.  All  the  popular  marches 
have  this  intermediate  section,  always  in  the  same  modulation,  seleeteii 
because  of  the  feeling  if  its  appropriateness  and  not  by  arbitrary  or 
con.'^cious  choice. 

The  quality  of  6  is  primarily  that  of  dependence,  which  appeared 
even  in  the  pentatonic  scale,  where  it  had  a  strong  tendency  to  pass 
the  melody  on  to  5.  Moreover,  it  can  not  serve  as  a  cadence,  except 
in  minor,  though  it  can  lead  to  a  fairly  satisfactory  cadence  either 
superimposed  as  9th  on  the  dominant  seventh  chord  or  as  middle  tone 
of  the  sub-dominant.  The  former  emphasizes  its  dependent  quality 
and  rouses  high  expectation  of  the  tonic  chord  and  5  in  the  cadence. 
Its  chief  significance  as  well  as  much  of  its  value  is  due  to  the  two 
following  facts:  First,  it  is  the  characteristic  tone  of  the  triad  built 
*Dr.  HaU,  1.  c. 


30  The  Roi.I'  of  Expectation  in  Music 

on  4;  and  second,  it  is  the  lower  tone  of  the  important  minor  third 
of  the  pentatonic  scale,  6-8.  In  that  scale  the  upward  movement 
of  the  melody  from  6  was  always  to  8  (in  the  absence  of  a  leading 
tone),  but  not  for  a  cadence.  The  frequent  occurrence  of  the  intervals 
6-8  (oi"  8-6)  in  modern  music  is  doubtless  a  survival  of  the  pentatonic 
period.  The  use  of  6  in  later  music  as  the  base  of  the  minor  scale 
has  served  to  emphasize  its  dependent  character.  Its  early  appearance 
in  the  scale  is  due  to  the  fact  that  it  was  in  common  use  and  still 
is,  even  in  undeveloped  peoples,  in  the  expression  of  grief,  or  pain  or 
anxiety.  The  whine,  the  moan,  the  fretful  tone,  are  all  in  minor  in 
the  succession  of  their  tones.  Other  uses  of  minor  will  be  touched 
on  under  the  subject  of  harmony. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  these  values  of  the  different  tones  of 
the  scale  as  just  discussed,  do  not  appear  so  clearly  in  some  modernist 
music.  There  are  two  reasons  that  may  be  given  for  this  loss  of  value. 
One  is  the  attitude  toward  tonality,  in  consequence  of  which  before 
there  is  any  opportunity  for  the  value  of  a  tone  to  assert  itself  in  its 
relation  to  the  tonic,  the  latter  has  suffered  change  and  expectation 
has  no  basis.  Frequently  after  giving  a  definite  signature,  which 
supposedly  is  to  beget  expectation,  the  opening  phrases  are  in  quite  a 
distant,  even  alien  tonality,  and  confusion  as  to  expectation  and  values 
cannot  fail  to  ensue.  In  this  respect,  as  in  a  case  pointed  out  above, 
there  must  be  opportunity  for  new  habits  to  be  established  before 
expectation  can  be  develped.  The  other  reason  is  the  persistent  use 
in  much  modernist  music  of  discordant  blends  of  tone,  the  seeming 
reluctance  to  present  a  chord  undiluted.'  This  goes  so  far  in  many 
cases  as  to  leave  us  even  with  a  discordant  cadence.  It  is  impossible 
under  this  treatment  for  the  normal  value  of  a  tone  to  assert  itself 
in  consciousness  and  time  alone  can  tell  whether  this  is  an  episode  in 
the  development  of  music  or  a  real  step  forward  which  will  eventually 
create  its  own  new  habits  and  expectation. 

d.  The  use  of  accidentals  at  the  beginning  of  a  melody,  has 
already  been  discussed  (under  a.  above).  Their  function  in  melody 
in  general  is  about  the  same  as  at  the  beginning,  i.  e.,  to  heighten 
expectation  of  the  next  succeeding  essential  tone,  and  hence  increase 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  or  surprise  in  not  hearing  it  (v.  Ill,  6.  b.,  below). 
The  greater  pleasure  thus  secured,  like  all  intense  pleasure,  is  apt  to 
be  dissipated  by  two  frequent  indulgence;  it  palls  on  the  taste  like 
too  long  or  frequent  eating  of  sweets.  Franz  Liszt  and  Dudley  Buck 
may  be  noted  as  great  sinners  against  the  psychological  principle  of 
"too  much."  In  some  of  Beethoven's  greatest  melodies  there  is  little 
resort  to  the  accidentals,  pleasure  being  procured  in  other  ways  that 
bear  repetition  better,  or  even  without  repetition.  Wagner  has  noble 
melodies,  also  Schumann,  free  from  accidentals  in  the  ordinary  use, 
though  they  are  frequent  in  enharmonic  modulation  where  they  main- 
tain interest  by  well-planned  surprises.  The  modernists  use  accidentals 
so  freely  in  both  ways  (and  all  ways),  sudden  modulations,  transition 
tones,  turning  the  melody  aside,  enharmonic  changes,  that  an  unsophis- 
ticated listener  has  for  some  time  a  sense  of  confusion,  and  until  there 
has  elapsed  the  time  necessary  for  new  habituation,  expectation  be- 
comes non-operative. 

e.  Just  as  was  the  case  in  rhythm  (v.  I,  8,  above),  a  certain 
melodic  succession,  the  intervals  with  special  essential  and  non-essential 
tones,  sets  a  melodic  pattern  which  serves  as  a  definite  basis  of  ex- 
pectation for  the  particular  composition.  Any  deviation  from  that 
pattern,  whether  the  latter  was  consciously  noted  or  not,  has  a  certain 
esthetic  effect  in  a  repetition,  and  the  effect  is  increased  almost  in 
proportion  as  the  deviation  is  clearly  perceived.  A  notable  instance  of 
a   pattern   set   at   the   beginning    and   abruptly    broken    (after    several 


Melody 31 

repetitions)  is  to  be  found  in  Son.  op.  31  No.  1  of  Beethoven."  The 
composer  chose  the  rondo  form  for  this  final  movement,  which  involves 
recurrence  of  the  general  pattern  at  definite  intervals.  At  the  ex- 
pected time  he  starts  the  melody  allegro  as  in  the  pattern,  but  after 
the  first  figure  he  retards  and  then  halts  the  melody  entirely;  the  usual 
response  (of  the  pattern)  is  then  started,  but  in  the  same  way  retarded 
and  halted.  This  is  repeated  nearly  in  toto,  but  then  the  melody 
is  turned  aside  and  led  into  an  elaborate  coda  in  which  the  initial 
figure  of  the  pattern  is  a  main  feature.  In  another  instance,  he  post- 
pones the  final  tone  of  a  rising  cadence  twice  by  a  sudden  halt  on 
the  leading  tone — the  second  time  an  octave  lower — and  so  maintains 
suspense  of  expectation  for  the  final  tonic,  which  he  at  last  gives  an 
octave  lower  yet.  Son.  Op  53,  close  of  first  movement.^''  In  both  of 
these  the  aesthetic  effect  on  the  listener  is  due  in  large  measure  to 
the  reaction  (different  in  the  two  instances  cited)  on  his  expectation. 
f.  The  point  just  named  in  e.  above  has  a  special  application 
in  the  device  known  in  composition  as  imitation,  when  a  melodic 
pattern  announced  in  one  voice  (or  part)  or  by  one  instrument,  is 
repeated  by  another  instrument,  or  in  another  voice  (or  part).  The 
expectation  of  the  various  intervals  and  rhythm  of  the  pattern  in  this 
repetition  has  a  large  share  in  the  pleasure  derived  from  this  treat- 
ment of  a  subject.  And  for  genuine  enjoyment  of  polyphonic  music 
in  its  thoroughgoing  forms  (canon,  fugues  and  the  like)  there  is  an 
alertness  of  expectation  demanded  that  amounts  to  an  intellectual 
challenge.  Here  the  appreciation  of  music  on  the  intellectual  side 
has  a  large  opportunity.  Memory  of  the  original  pattern — the  sub- 
ject— must  be  vivid,  and  attention  must  be  alert  to  discern  the  return 
in  a  new  voice,  and  note  any  deviation  from  the  pattern.  Yet  imita- 
tion of  phrases  in  a  more  emotional  fashion  is  quite  common  in  com- 
posers whose  general  method  is  far  from  polyphonic,  such  as  Beethoven, 
Schumann,  Brahms.  But  many  listeners,  perhaps  the  majority  and 
including  real  lovers  of  music,  fail  utterly  to  catch  the  purpose  of  the 
tomposer  and  the  meaning  of  the  music  becavxse  they  have  no  hint 
of  direction  in  focussing  their  attention  and  thus  giving  expectation 
a  fair  chance.  The  difficulty  of  following  imitation,  the  intellectual 
effort  required,  is  even  greater  in  the  case  of  so-called  inversion,  in 
which  the  direction  of  intervals  (up  or  down)  is  reversed,  while  the 
rhythmic  pattern  is  retained.  Expectation  follows  the  same  lines  but 
closer   attention   is   called   for. 


32  The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


III.     EXPECTATION    AS    IT    APPEARS    IN    HARMONY. 

Harmony,  which  seems  to  us  that  are  habituated  to  its  meaning 
and  charm  an  elemental  factor  in  the  art  of  music,  is  really  of  quite 
recent  development.  The  question  of  its  origin  wears  a  totally  different 
aspect  from  the  same  question  with  regard  to  melody.  Whereas  melody 
ran  its  independent  course  more  or  less  concurrently  with  rhythm  until 
all  the  resources  of  the  diatonic  scale  and  the  Greek  modal  scales  were 
at  its  disposal,  harmony  waited  for  this  culmination  before  even  its 
earliest  manifestations.  The  inquiry  whether  it  is  really  subsconsciously 
implicit  in  melody  need  not  occupy  us  here,  although  it  is  of  great 
interest  in  itself.  But  at  any  rate  the  raw  material,  so  to  speak,  of 
the  most  intricate  harmony  of  the  modernist  was  actually  present 
in  the  commonly  used  intervals  of  the  scale  as  they  appear  in  melody. 
But  for  some  reason,  the  novelty  of  letting  two  voices  run  up  and 
down  the  melodic  phrases  together,  but  a  fifth  or  a  fourth  or  a  third 
or  sixth  apart,  seems  to  have  occurred  to  none.  And  yet  there  was 
really  a  foundation  laid  for  just  that  when  men  and  boys  or  men  and 
women  sang  the  same  melody.  They  thought  of  it  as  singing  in  the 
same  pitch,  unison,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  in  octaves  and  it 
was  already  habituating  them  unconsciously  to  the  simultaneous  use 
of  two  voices.  The  long  period  during  which  this  was  done  before 
its  significance  dawned  on  the  musician  is  a  witness  to  the  perfection 
of  fusion  in  the  octave.  But  during  all  that  long  period  it  can  hardly 
be  doubted  that  two  tones  at  other  intervals  would  be  accidentally 
sounded  together  and  give  an  unwelcome  sense  of  roughness  to  ears 
accustomed  to  the  smooth  octave.  But  it  was  not-  until  long  after 
the  Christian  era  that  any  other  interval  came  to  be  used  in  con- 
current singing.  To  be  practially  available  an  interval  must  meet 
two  conditions;  it  must  be  free  from  roughness,  which  would  offend 
the  ear,  and  it  must  be  convenient  for  high  and  low  pitched  voices 
of  the  same  sex,  so  that  two  men  or  two  women  could  use  it.  The 
highest  degree  of  fusion — ^smoothness — next  to  the  octave  is  furnished 
by  the  fifth,  and  this  interval  met  the  other  condition  also.  This  was 
all  the  harmony  used  for  a  long  period  subsequent  to  its  introduction. 
Barren  as  it  sounds  to  us  now,  it  marks  a  new  era  and  a  long  step 
in  advance  on  the  century-long  road  to  the  modern  achievements  of 
harmony.  The  ear  began  now  to  be  habituated  to  simultaneous  sounds 
not  octaves,  and  comparisons  could  not  fail  to  be  instituted  between 
the  two  kinds  of  intervals.  The  point  of  significance  for  our  purpose 
here  is  that  to  the  purely  melodic  expectation  already  developed  is 
now  superadded  a  slight  expectation  of  a  fundamentally  harmonic 
character.  Attention  was  henceforth  divided  between  the  tone  of  the 
melody  and  the  accompanying  tones  a  fifth  below,  an  important  element 
in  itself  in  the  development  of  music  appreciation.  The  absence  of 
the  lower  tone,  or  any  deviation  from  it,  introducing  another  interval, 
would  be  noted  at  once  and  come  as  an  unpleasant  shock  of  surprise. 
One  great  aid  in  the  habituation  to  two  tones  was  the  twanging  of  two 
strings  tuned  a  fifth  apart,  and  another  use  of  the  same  device  led 
to  wholly  unexpected  but  momentous  results.  The  singing  of  melodies 
in  one  part  had  not  ceased,  but  the  constant  accompaniment  of  the 
two  strings  gave  something  of  the  effect  of  the  harmony  a  fifth  below. 
But  as  the  melody  moved  up  and  down  the  special  Greek  mode 
that  happened  to  be  employed,  tones  would  be  sounded  that  were 
discordant,    rough   even   to   our   ears.     The   ear   would   simply   accept 


Har>iony  . 33 

these  as  temporary  and  expectation  would  be  fixed  on  the  smoother 
combinations  to  follow.  But  there  were  differences  in  roughness  and 
some  attentive  ear  caught  the  combination  1-3-5,  i.  e.,  a  tonic  triad, 
possible  in  several  of  the  Greek  modes.  The  same  point  was  reached 
by  another  route  as  well,  by  experiments  with  other  intervals  in  sing- 
ing,, and  with  additional  voices  accompanying  the  melody.  Both  ad- 
vanced very  slowly,  but  were  aided  finally  by  experiments  in  greater 
independence  of  the  lower  part  or  parts.  These,  instead  of  following 
along  at  a  fixed  interval  from  the  tone  of  the  melody,  were  allowed 
some  freedom  of  movement,  either  changing  pitch  while  the  melody 
remained  fixed  or  vice  versa,  or  ascending  when  the  melody  descended 
^or  kept  the  same  pitch),  or  vice  versa.  Each  successive  advance 
made  in  these  various  ways  had  to  undergo  its  period  of  habituation 
with  resulting  development  of-  expectation.  With  increasing  variety 
there  was  still  further  strain  on  attention  with  expectation  heightened 
more  readily  and  interest  more  easily  maintained."  Each  lower  part 
came  more  and  more  to  have  characteristics  of  melody  with  the  typical 
interest  and  expectation  of  melody.  In  this  slowly  developing  polyphonic 
treatment  of  the  voices  the  harmony  was  not  a  consciously  sought  end, 
but  rather  a  sort  of  by-product.  The  interest  seemed  to  be  centered 
on  the  conduct  of  the  several  voices  and  while  resulting  harmonies 
added  to  pleasure  and  gave  abundant  opportunity  for  surprise,  this 
latter  effect  was  incidental.  But  there  are  limits  to  the  polyphonio 
method  pure  and  simple,  arising  out  of  the  span  and  range  of  attention, 
and  after  its  culmination  in  the  works  of  Palestrina  (1524-94),  it  was 
replaced  by  a  method  that  had  a  rather  unpromising  origin  early  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  but  made  the  innovation  of  accompanying 
the  melody  with  chords  played  by  instruments. 

2.     Here  for  the  first  time  appeared  the  full  value  and  importance 
musically  of   the   third   tone,   or  3,   in   the   triad,   giving   content   and 
chara.cter   to   the   accompaniment   which    the   empty   fifth    left   so   un- 
meaning.    And  the  use  of  the  major  triad  was  followed  by  that  of  the 
minor,  and  aside  from  the  increased  expressiveness  that  could  be  lent 
to  a  melody  by  supporting  it  with   full  chords  there   was  vastly   in- 
creased range  for  expectation.     At  the  same  time,  the  range  of  atten- 
tion being  more  restricted  interest  was  better  focussed.     But  both  of 
these   triads   passed    through   a   long   period   of   probation   before   they 
were,  sufficiently  accepted  to  be  used  freely  and  thereby  beget  expecta- 
.tion.     The   minor    triad   especially    was   regarded    as   rough,    and    long 
after  it  was  in  current  use  it  was  not  expected  in  the  final  chord  of 
"a  cadence,  its  sound  was  as  yet  too  unpleasant.     Although  the  prevail- 
ing harmony  of  a  composition  was  mmor  and  the  closing  strains  to  us 
would  inevitably  end  in  the  minor  chord,  it  was  customary  even  down 
to  the  time  of  Bach  to  replace  the  minor  third  with  the  major  in  the 
final   chord.     This  being  merely  a  concession  to   the  prejudice  of  un- 
habituated  ears,  did   not  have  the  aesthetic  effect  of  a  surprise  as  it 
now  would.     The  majority  of  the  minor  preludes  and  fugues  of  Bach's 
"Wohltemperierte  Clavichord"  have  this  kind  of  a  cadence;  but  a  good- 
ly number  of  them,  surprised   the  musicians  of  the  day  by   retaining 
the  minor  third,  and  they  are  among  the  finest.     Others  had  anticipated 
him  in  the  use  of  final  minor  chords,  but  it  was  in  accompanying"  a 
sung  melody. 

The  great  variety  that  becomes  possible  through  the  current  use 
of  the  triad  appears  from  the  fact  that  each  tone  of  the  scale  is  a 
member  of  three  major  and  three  minor  triads.  Any  tone  in  the  melody 
is,  therefore,  open  to  be  supported  in  those  six  different  ways,  at  least. 
And  as  each  triad  has  certain  distincti\e  qualities  growing  out  Of  the 
relation  of  its  base  to  the  tonic,  it  modifies  the  particular  tone  it. 
supports  with  sQmething  pf  its  own  value. 


34 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

3.  The  fact  just  stated  not  only  shows  how  harmony  as  it 
gradually  developed  furnished  a  powerful  instrument  for  the  re-inforce- 
ment  of  melody,  thus  giving  more  adequate  expression  to  emotion; 
it  also  suggests  the  great  significance  there  is  for  our  present  inquiry 
in  the  great  opportunity  opened  up  for  the  heightening  of  expectation, 
and  resulting  satisfaction  and  pleasure  in  its  fulfillment  or  corresponding 
surprise  and  interest  in  non-fulfillment.  This  is  evident  even  in  the 
early  stages  of  the  harmonizing  era  during  which  there  came  into  being 
what  we  may  call  the  obvious  or  simple  harmonic  treatment.  Not 
that  all  composers  observed  this;  Bach  was  anything  but  obvious  at 
times.  But  a  large  part  of  his  contemporaries  and  immediate  follow- 
ers (in  tune)  were  far  less  intricate  and  subtle  than  he.  In  fact,  he 
anticipated  an  age  far  in  advance  of  his  own.  The  early  obvious 
harmony  may  still  be  found  reproduced  in  some  of  the  most  popular 
common  songs,  where  subtlety  would  be  decidedly  misplaced  and  would 
fail  of  exercising  any  charm.  Looking  over  any  collection  of  favorite 
songs  of  almost  any  country,  where  the  author  of  the  melody  is  also 
the  harmonizer,  one  can  find  abundant  models  of  the  obvious  harmonic 
scheme  which  has  very  definite  characteristics  and  expectations. 

The  tonic  triad  is  confidently  looked  for  to  open  the  harmonic 
series,  and  whatever  triad  may  follow  next  there  is  equally  confident 
expectation  of  return  to  the  tonic.  The  scheme  most  frequently  to 
be  found  is  that  in  the  melody  attributed  to  Rousseau  and  in  common 
use  in  hymnbooks  under  the  name  "Greenville."**  It  is,  subject,  of 
course,  to  changes  due  to  different  melodic  sequence:  tonic — dominant — 
tonic  (in  this  particular  instance  repeated) — tonic — subdominant — tonic 
(also  repeated) — tonic — dominant — tonic.  The  particular  form  in  this 
air  is  not  as  general  as  the  sequence.  The  essential  feature  of  the' 
scheme  is  that  the  first  departure  from  the  tonic  is  to  the  dominant 
and  after  the  return  to  tonic  there  is  a  departure  to  the  subdominant 
before  the  cadence.  This  appearance  of  the  subdominant  before  the 
cadence  is  of  special  importance  as  the  same  sequence  in  essence 
has  maintained  itself  in  some  of  the  largest  and  more  intricate  forms 
like  the  sonata.  In  the  simpler  forms  it  is  so  regularly  used  this  way 
that  it  has  the  effect  of  a  signal  that  the  cadence  is  not  far  away. 
There  may  be  no  return  to  the  tonic  before  the  actual  cadence,  but 
expectation  is  definitely  excited  of  either  the  tonic  followed  by  dominant 
leading  in  the  cadence  to  tonic  again,  or  of  dominant  with  cadence, 
in  the  tonic. 

Another  simple  harmonic  pattern  followed  in  many  particular 
songs  is  that  which  passes  into  subdominant  at  the  first,  leaving 
the  dominant  for  a  later  sequence.  Tonic — subdominant — tonic — 
dominant;  the  same  repeated  except  that  there  is  apt  to  be  a  cadence, 
following  which  comes  an  episode.  Here  again,  the  essential  thing 
is  the  early  appearance  of  the  sub-dominant,  which  seems  to  give 
a  sober,  less  lively  spirit  to  the  entire  song.  "Annie  Laurie"  and 
"Suwanee  River"  may  serve  as  types. 

Both  of  these  simple  schemes  have  undergone  numberless  modi- 
fications— not  including  as  yet  modulation.  Among  these  are  intro- 
duction of  some  minor  triads  where  tones  of  the  melody  admit,  the 
change  of  the  triad  while  the  melody  sustains  or  repeats  the  same  tone, 
or  conversely  the  sustaining  of  a  triad  while  the  melody  moves,  post- 
poning the  expected  change  in  harmony  or  substituting  some  other 
chord  for  the  one  expected.  But  indulgence  in  much  of  this  is  apt 
to  give  the  general  effect  of  subtlety  rather  than  of  the  obvious.  A 
good  example  of  considerable  variety  on  the  basis  of  rather  obvious 
harmony  is  the  popular  "Largo"  of  Handel.  Minor  triads  are  rather 
frequent,    there   is   even   a    threatened    modulation,    frequent   inversion 


_    _  Harmony 36 

of  triads  and  the  like,  all  without  crossing  the  border-line  and  becoming 
subtle.  And  withal  he  manages  a  fine  and  very  effective  postpone- 
ment of  cadence,  a  case  of  heightened  expectation  and  surprise.  The 
melody  has  the  leading  tone,  7,  in  the  octave,  at  a  point  seemingly 
fitting  for  a  cadence  on  the  tonic  above.  The  composer  makes  exr 
pectation  of  cadence  doubly  strong  by  using  the  chord  of  the  dominant 
seventh,  which  calls  for  cadence  on  tonic  chord.  But  while  the  next 
tone  of  the  melody  is  the  tonic  (octave),  it  is  the  subdominant  triad, 
with  its  third  the  lowest  tone,  that  supports  it,  and  the  expected 
cadence  is  evaded.'*  Handel  satisfies  expectation  in  a  few  measures 
after  his  surprise  with  a  conventional  cadence.^*  Raff,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  march  movement  from  the  "Lenore"  Symphony,  has  an  effective 
turn  from  the  obvious  harmony  he  seems  to  inaugurate.  The  obvious 
triad  for  the  fourth  beat  of  his  melody,  with  the  tone  2,  would  be 
dominant,  followed  normally  by  tonic  triad;  but  he  slips  in  a  minor 
chord  with  2  as  its  base,  while  the  nominal  bass  remains  the  tonic. '^ 
Being  unexpected  adds  to  the  natural  plaintiveness  of  the  minor. 

One  of  the  finest  examples  of  entirely  obvious  harmony,  following 
from  tonic  to  dominant  and  back  again  with  firm  precision,  is  in  the 
first  six  measures  of  the  Finale  of  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony."* 
The  stately  melody  rises  from  tonic  through  3  to  5,  the  harmony 
being  the  tonic  triad;  in  descending  back  to  tonic  again  the  melody 
has  the  sequence:  4-3-2-1-2-1,  the  accent  thus  falling  on  S  and  1. 
The  harmony  for  the  off -beats  is  the  dominant,  for  the  accents  the 
tonic.  This  is  quite  in  keeping  with  expectation  and  the  effect  is  that 
of  great  positiveness  of  affirmation,  decision  without  a  quaver.  Any 
attempt  at  a  subtle  handling  of  the  harmony  in  this  passage  at  once 
changes  its  character.  I  have  been  interested  to  compare  with  it  the 
climax  which  Tschaikowski  works  up  in  the  third  movement  of  his 
Symphony  No.  VI.  (Patetica).  The  melody  has  a  like  grandeur  of 
assertion,  but  the  effect  of  descision  is  somewhat  weakened  by  the 
harmony  changing  more  frequently  and  subtly;  the  bass  moves  into 
subdominant  while  the  melody  remains  on  the  tonic,  and  descends 
by  semitones  from  6  to  5.^'  It  is  a  tremendously  effective  passage, 
but  it  has  not  the  decisiveness  that  is  so  marked  in  the  other. 

A  comparison  of  the  three  successive  composers  Haydn,  Mozart 
and  Beethoven,  shows  a  steady  progress  in  complexity  and  subtlety 
of  harmony.  Haydn  seems  to  us  of  the  twentieth  century  decidedly 
naive.  His  Symphony  known  as  the  "Surprise"  has  very  little  in  the 
way  of  harmony  that  seems  unexpected  to  us,  while  the  burst  of 
doubled  thirds  on  the  "Light!"  near  the  beginning  of  his  oratorio,. 
"Creation,"  is  pretty  obvious  if  effective.  It  is  even  a  question  whether 
acquaintance  with  Bach  would  have  deepened  his  incorrigible  tran- 
quility, whether  the  latter  was  not  really  too  far  in  advance  of  his  age. 
But  one  service  of  great  value  Haydn  rendered,  from  which  both 
his  successors  profited.  He  did  for  the  sonata  form,  particularly  in 
his  chamber  music  and  symphonies,  what  Bach  had  done  so  thoroughly 
for  the  fugue  and  other  polyphonic  forms,  in  elaborating  his  subjects 
by  thematic  development.  We  have  already'  seen  above  (.II,  6,  £) 
how  imitation  and  inversion  both  react  on  expectation;  what  we  have 
to  note  here  is  the  fact  that  increasingly  composers  have  made  use 
of  imitation  and  inversion  to  add  special  interest  to  the  harmony 
in  the  newly  developed  sonata  form.  In  the  canon  and  fugue  forms 
all  the  harmony  there  is  is  furnished  by  the  theme  and  its  develop- 
ment in  the  different  voices,  whereas  in  the  other  forms  there  is  a 
complete  harmony  supporting  the  one  voice  of  the  melody  (therefore 
called  homophonic).  Now,  when  the  theme  itself  or  some  modification 
of  it  is  made  an  intregal  part  of  the  harmony  it  has  the  effect  of 
drawing    special    attentiori    to    itself    with    new    interest.     The    effort 


^ The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

to  follow  it  more  closely  does  not  strain  the  attention  as  in  the  poly- 
phonic method,  but  the  harmony  which  heretofore  gave  rise  to  expecta- 
tion only  in  connection  with  the  melody  or  upper  part,  now  takes  on  a 
sort  of  independent  life  and  has  transferred  to  it  and  infused  into  it 
whatever  expectation  the  theme  had  given  rise  to  as  the  upper  support - 
eil  voice. 

On  account  of  its  importance  in  this  connection  it  will  be  desirable 
to  point  out  the  principal  operations  involved  in  what  has  been  called 
development.  The  simplest  is  straight  repetition  which,  as  pointed 
out  in  the  discussion  on  repetition,  is  quite  allowable  and  often  demanded. 
More  interest  is  aroused  if  the  intervals  represented  in  the  theme  are 
left  unchanged  (or  nearly  so)  and  the  entire  sequence  is  transposed  to 
another  part  of  the  scale;  this  seems  to  add  to  the  freshness  of  the 
theme,  to  hear  it  on  a  different  pitch.  If  this  is  restated  in  another 
voice,  we  have  a  special  case  of  imitation.  But  the  theme  may 
be  modified  either  by  doubling  the  length  of  the  notes  composing  it 
or  by  halving  it,  so  that  it  requires  more  of  an  effort  of  attention  to 
recognize  it.  These  operations  of  augmenting  and  diminishing  are 
not  the  only  possible  rhythmical  changes;,  the  accents  of  the  theme 
may  be  shifted,  giving  a  more  or  less  altered  rhythmic  pattern,  or  the 
succession  of  tones  may  be  made  to  yield  a  pattern  of  wholly  different 
effect.  But  the  most  powerful  effect  of  all,  the  most  difficult  as  well, 
and  attained  successfully  only  by  comparatively  few  even  of  the 
greatest  masters,  is  the  progressive  extension  of  a  theme  by  utilizing 
different  portions  of  it,  building  it  up  from  point  to  point  to  a  majestic 
climax.  I  refer  to  such  passages  as  that  in  Beethoven's  Sonata  Op.  106 
first  movement  soon  after  the  development  has  been  taken  up; 
the  composer  leads  up  to  the  key  of  Gb  for  his  climax.  Schumann 
has  two  such  in  the  F  sharp  min.  Sonata  Op.  11,  one  in  the  first 
movement  leading  to  a  fortissimo  in  F.  sharp  major,  the  other  the 
clasing  two  pages  of  the  finale.  The  significance  of  all  this  for  us 
lies  in  the  fact  that  in  each  and  every  type  of  development  expectation 
is  •  unfailingly  active,  following  each  new  announcement  of  the  theme 
from  point  to  point  on  the  basis  of  its  first  announcement.  Pleasure 
of  satisfaction  accompanies  each  return  of  a  familiar  sequence,  and 
each  fresh  turn  as  it  is  noted  adds  the  new  thrill  of  interest.  While 
few  moments  in  music  are  so  full  of  emotional  content,  of  unalloyed 
rapture,  as  a  climax  such  as  I  have  described.  It  is  as  if  some  great 
aspirations  were  being  brought  to   their  consummation. 

.,  Now  all  these  various  forms  of  development — with  the  possible 
exception  of  the  last — may  be  made  a  part  of  the  harniony  supporting 
a. melody;  a  theme  or  sequence  that  had  already  appeared  in  the  melody 
being  repeated  as  a  sort  of  response  in  a  lo.wer  part.  Very  skillful  and 
beautiful  instances  are  to  be  found  in  the'  Andante  in  Bb  from 
Tschaikowski's  First  Quartette,*"  the  imitative  responses  having  often 
considerable  freedom. 

To  tome  back  to  Haydn;  his  work  in  thematic  development  is 
not  his  onlj'  anticipation  of  or  contribution  to  his  successors;  he  has 
some  harmonic  feats  that  must  have  made  his  contemporaries  jump 
with  surprise.  Some  will  be  discussed  later  (6  a.  and  b.  below).  But 
these  are  so  rare  as  not  to  change  the  general  verdict  given  above. 

Mozart  learned  all  that  Haydn  could  teach  him  and  out  of  his 
own  fertile  imagination  (in  ignorance  of  Bach)  evolved  far  greater 
variety  and  subtlety  of  harmonic  treatment,  so  much  so  that  for  multi- 
tudes of  music  lovers  of  today,  even  in  Germany,  he  represents  almost 
the  limit  of  intelligibility.  His  imitations  in  the  harmony  in  double 
thirds  not  only  strain  the  attention  but  involve  sharp  dissonances*  ^ 
which  he  does  nothing  to  relieve.  Such  passages  are  endured  for  two 
special  reasons  that  concern  us.     In  the  first  place-  the  ■  movement  of- 


•  •        • .     Harmoky    ■    •    ■  ■:    -  •  •• 87 

the  voices  in  imitation  begets  expectation  and  -so  interest  in  following 
the  double  voice;  and  secondly,  the  dissonance  heard  during  the  move- 
ment of  the  several  parts  raises  expectation  of  a  harmonj-  to  relieve 
it,  and  such  relief  is  a  real  source  of  pleasure  (v.  6.  below). — The  de- 
gree of  subtlety  he  attained  is  seen  at  its  highest  in  the  opening  strains 
of  the  C  major  quartet,*-  where  he  starts  out  with  repeated  notes  on 
the  tonic,  whereupon  the  listener  expects  some  tone  of  the  tonic  triad 
to  follow;  instead  he  hears  6b  come  in  at  the  close  of  the  measure. 
Then  wc  liear  3(>  and  the  appearance  is  rather  of  something  in  the 
tonality  of  Gb;  but  this  expectation  is  defeated  at  once  bj-  6  natural 
in  the  violin,  the  sharp  dissonance  with  G  fiat  below  being  avoided  by 
the  shift  of  that  voice  to  5,  from  which  there  is  suggested  a  modulation 
to  r^.  But  before  we  feel  at  home  in  that  tonality  the  3(B)  is  flatted 
and  the  entire  sequence  is  repeated  a  whole  tone  below  the  former 
statement;  and  this  time  expectation  follows  it  closely  from  point  to 
point  to  see  how  exactly'  it  is  repeated  and  how  it  is  followed  up. 
Even  Haydn's  "Chaos"  is  not  so  subtle  as  that  passage. 

But  a  simpler  test  of  subtlety  in  the  waj'^  of  meeting  expectation 
is  to  'be  found  in  the  tonality  used  by  different  composers  in  their 
works.  But  in  statistics  on  this  point  it  is  evident  that  Bach's  Well- 
tempered  Clavichord  should  not  be  included,  because  it  is  a  deliberate 
attempt  on  his  part  to  cover  all  the  tonalities,  and  quite  a  number  are 
not  to  be  found  in  his  other  works,  a  number  more  very  rarely.  In 
his  works  so  far  as  examined,  sixteen  of  the  thirty  possible  tonalities 
were  observed,  only  four  of  which  had  more  than  three  flats  or  sharps 
in  the  signature,  and  only  four  had  as  much  as  three.  C  and  G  were 
most  numerous,  minors  and  majors  about  equal.  In  the  works  of 
Haydn  examined  only  twelve  tonalities  were  found.  Of  these  G  and 
D  -were  most  numerous,  C  and  E  flat  next.  Only  one  tonality  was 
represented  with  more  than  three  sharps,  also  one  with  more  than 
three  flats.  But  majors  were  in  overwhelming  majority  over  minors. 
The  difference  between  Mozart  and  Haydn  is  less  marked  than  between 
Bach  and  Haydn.  In  Mozart  there  is  much  more  even  distribution 
in  the  use  of  tonalities,  less  of  difference  between  majors  and  minors; 
on  the  w-hole  more  balance  but  not  much  expansion.  Beethoven 
represents  a  marked  expansion  with  no  loss  of  balance.  In  his  works 
that  were  examined  there  were  nineteen  tonalities  represented  with 
a  considerable  increase  in  those  of  more  than  three  sharps  or  flats. 
So  far  as  noted  he  is  the  first  to  use  A  flat,  D  flat,  E  flat  minor, 
C  sharp  minor,  A  flat  minor  and  F  sharp  minor*  freely.  Since  his 
day  there  has  been  growing  freedom  in  the  use  of  tonalities,  with  such 
writers  as  Schubert,  Schumann,  Mendelssohn  and  Lizst  pointing  th^e 
way.  The  last  named  in  the  compositions  examined  has  nothing  in 
the  following  keys:  C,  G,  F,  D,  E  flat,  and  favors  the  tonalities  with 
complicated  signature.  By  that  time,  and  in  later  composers  to  a 
large  extent,  the  value  of  tonality  as  a  test  of  subtlety  is  much  dimin- 
ished, as  the  fashion  begins  to  gain  ground  to  multiply  sharps  and 
flats  in  the  signature  as  having  a  certain  romantic  flavor.  It  is  a 
would-be  subtlety  that  leads  a  would-be  composer  to  choose  D  flat-, 
when  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  has  not  a  D  flat  theme!  Hence  a  truer 
test  of  subtlety  is  to  be  found  now  in  the  handling  of  harmonic  se- 
quence, the  way  in  which  expectation  is  met  or  thwarted  and  pleasure 
of  satisfaction  or  surprise  secured.  And  here  we  must  again  exercise 
a   limiting  selection  because  of  the  wealth  of  material. 

Composers  have  made  great  progress  since  the  day  of  Haydn  in 
appreciation  and  use  of  the  chromatic  scale,  in  both  melody  and 
harmony.     Some   of   its  functions   in   melody   have  been   pointed   out-; 

*Mozari  has  one  case  of  F  tharp  minor — so  far  a*  noted,  and  aUo  of  A  flat. 


88 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music . 

and  much  of  the  same  inheres  in  its  value  in  harmony.  The  move- 
ment of  a  harmonic  part  by  semitones  rouses  added  expectation  for  the 
following  tone  of  that  part  just  as  truly  as  it  does  for  unaccompanied 
melody.  It  has  a  stronger  divisive  effect  on  attention  and  calls  for 
greater  alertness  of  expectation,  but  for  that  very  reason  secures  a 
higher  degree  of  satisfaction  when  skillfully  handled.  Two  examples 
from  Beethoven  may  be  noted,  though  all  composers  of  rank  use  the 
expedient.  In  Sonata  No.  12,*'  in  the  fifth  and  sixth  measures  from 
the  beginning,  the  bass  has  the  sequence  6-5-4#-4-3,  the  4|t  even  suggest- 
ing for  the  moment,  a  different  tonality.  And  it  is  this  4#  that  by 
postponing  4  and  3  heightens  expectation  of  both.  It  would  be  correct 
and  not  unsatisfactory  harmony  to  omit  that  half-step  altogether, 
give  4  double  time  and  then  proceed  to  3,  which  would  be  expected. 
But  performance  of  this  sequence  followed  by  the  one  Beethoven 
wrote  shows  the  vast  superiority  of  the  latter.  Again  in  Symphony 
No.  2,  in  the  Larghetto,**  the  fourth  measure  from  the  beginning  gives 
the  same  sequence  in  the  bass  while  the  upper  parts  are  stationary; 
and  in  the  sixth  measure'*  the  sequence  7-1-2  is  changed  to  7-lft-2, 
with  the  effect  of  heightening  expectation  of  2.  A  similar  effect  is 
secured  later  in  measure  nineteen  by  giving  half-steps  in  two  parts.** 
But  the  danger  pointed  out  above  in  speaking  of  melody  is  present 
almost  in  the  same  degree  in  the  lower  parts.  Spohr  is  a  composer 
who  seems  to  delight  in  the  chromatic  scale  for  its  own  sake,  and 
his  music  suffers  in  consequence.  Some  of  the  modernist  writers  show 
a  kindred  weakness  and  suggest  vacillation  and  uncertainty.  And  the 
popular  caterers  to  passing  taste  exhibit  their  mastery  of  chromatic 
intervals  in  the  bass  (or  other  parts)  ad  nauseam. 

Another  point  of  prime  importance  in  this  connection  is  the  con- 
trasting use,  for  aesthetic  purposes,  of  major  and  minor.  Bach  is 
pioneer  here — as  in  so  many  ways — and  there  are  few  finer  passages 
in  organ  music  than  that  in  the  great  Fantasie  in  G  minor  where 
the  bass  moves  down  by  whole  steps  and  half  steps,  interposing  a 
minor  chord  when  a  major  was  expected,  but  soon  restoring  the  ex- 
pected major,  and  continuing  this  alternation  in  a  sort  of  majestic 
procession,"  and  surprising  us  at  the  end  by  a  harsh  discord.  But 
more  eflfective  in  kindling  and  conveying  emotion  is  the  change  from 
a  prevailing  major  to  a  minor,  or  vice  versa.  Of  the  latter  one  of  the 
finest  and  best  known  exarnples  is  that  in  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony, 
and  a  brief  analysis  of  his  procedure  in  that  work  will  serve  as  an 
illustration  of  the  treatment  of  the  same  change  by  him  in  other 
works  and  by  other  composers  before  and  since.  Others  had  used  it, 
but  it  is  through  Beethoven  largely  that  the  possibilities  of  this  aesthetic 
effect  have  become  familiar  and  available.  For  his  monumental  work 
the  composer  chose  the  tonality  of  C  minor  (the  same  used  in  the 
Sonata  Pathetique.)  The  first  movement  being  in  sonata  form  calls 
for  a  change  of  key  in  the  second  subject,  and  quite  in  keeping  with 
expectation  he  presents  that  subject  in  the  relative  major  E  fiat, 
which  comes  almost  as  a  relief  after  the  ominous,  almost  threatening 
exordium.  It  is  further  expected  in  the  sonata  form  that  the  first 
section  of  the  movement  should  have  its  cadence  in  the  key  in  which 
the  second  subject  was  announced,  and  this  condition  is  met.*  The 
ominous  tone  returns  with  the  recaptitulation  and  is  brought  up  to 
a  towering  climax  in  the  remote  key  of  D  fiat,  a  quite  unexpected  move. 
At  the  point  where  in  due  course,  the  second  subject  is  to  return, 
he  gives  some  premonition  of  his  ultimate  purpose  by  presenting  it 
in  C  major.  Now  while  these  changes  to  a  major  tonality  are  so 
much  in  accordance  to  usage  that  to  the  habituated  listener  they  seem 

♦Evasion  .is  not  imcomBnon  but  oecaeionB  some  degree  of  surpriee;  v.  IV.,  6  (c)  below'. 


^        Harmoky  ■ 39 

quite  the  expected  thing,  to  one- comparatively  fresh  in  orchestral  or 
other  elaborate  music  both  changes  would  come  as  a  strikingly  beauti- 
ful surprise.  But  that  is  not  all  that  Beethoven  is  aiming  at.  Nor 
is  his  appropriate  choice  of  tonality  .and  harmony  m  the  second  move- 
ment— Andante  in  A  flat  major — his  essential  thought  in  this  symphony; 
for  he  has  the  same  change  in  the  Sonata  No.  8  (Pathetique)  and  No.  5 
for  piano.  And  the  tonality  of  the  third  movement — Allegro — is 
quite  conventional,  C  m.inor  (same  as  first  movement);  only  there  is 
something  disturbing  and  exciting  abotit  the  rhythm  and  the  melodic 
material,  that  suggest  unknown  possibilities.  It  is  this  exciting  element 
that  is  carried  to  the  highest  pitch  of  expectation  by  the  composer, 
as  he  approaches  the  final  movement.  While  the  full  dominant  seventh 
chord  is  being  persistently  and  vigorously  asserted  in  the  upper  parts 
the  tonic  is  with  equal,  vigor  asserted  in  the  bass  by  drum  beats, 
making  a  sharp  dissonance,  until  the  ear  and  mind  both  fairly  ache 
with  suspense.  Then  comes  the  great  surprise  for  which  the  whole 
work  has  been  preparing  us.  The  usual  tonality  for  the  finale  is  the 
same  as  that  of  the  first  movement,  and  in  Sonatas  No.  1,  5,  8,  14,  17 
and  23  for  the  piano,  all  of  which  begin  in  a  minor  tonality,  the  finale 
does  not  change  it.  But  here,  after  raising  expectation  to  such  a 
pitch,  he  bursts  out  into  a  sort  of  triumph  song  in  C  major,  a  tonality 
quite  unexpected,  because  the  prevailing  tone  of  the  preceding  move- 
ment is  minor  until  within  a  few  measures;  and  the  hints  of  major 
there  are  quite  compatible  with  a  return  to  minor  in  the  Finale; 
hence  it  is  quite  a  complete  surprise.  And  entire  familiarity  with  th« 
structure  of  the  whole  work  and  with  the  frequent  use  of  the  same 
device  by  Beethoven  (in  Symphony  No.  IX,  Sonata  No.  32,  and  else- 
where) and  other  composers,  does  not  interfere  with  our  enjoyment  of 
its  uplifting  power  at  each  new  performance.  "Age  cannot  wither 
nor  custom  stale"  its  deathless  charm. 

The  same  change  which  is  here  connected  with  the  transition  into 
a  new  movement  (also  in  the  IXth  Symphony)  has  often  been  intro- 
duced by  composers  within  the  limits  of  a  single  movement  or  composi- 
tion. So  in  the  great  Largo  of  Sonata  No.  29  (op.  106),  after  maintain- 
ing a  deep  and  tragic  mmor  (except  in  episodes)  nearly  to  the  end, 
Beethoven  prepares  and  completes  the  cadence  in  major.  Nearly 
the  same  plan  is  followed  by  Brahms  in  the  Finale  of  his  Third  Sonata, 
in  F  minor.  Schumann  has  two  of  the  three  earlier  movements  of 
his  F  sharp  minor  Sonata  (op.  11)  in  that  key,  with  episodes  in  major; 
the  Finale  starts  out  according  to  expectation  in  the  same  key,  and  it 
is  only  on  the  last  pages  that  he  verges  toward  the  major  and  closes 
in  a  great  climax.  All  these  cases  are  far  more  subtle  and  elaborate 
and  consequently  with  deeper  aesthetic  effect  from  the  surprise  in- 
volved than  the  naive  and  ingenuous  manner  of  Schubert  in  such  songs 
as  the  "Serenade,"  "The  Nun,"  "Death  and  the  Maiden,"  and  others. 
To  habituated  ears  particularly  they  come  to  have  an  effect  of  same- 
ness. And  manj'  tjTos  in  composition  use  the  device  because  they 
feel  its  fascination  and  expect  it  to  please,  not  because  they  are  im- 
pelled to  it  by  some  deep  aesthetic  impulse.  But  as  indicated  above 
in  other  connections,  depending  too  mucli  on  the  expectation  and 
surprise   causes   it   to   lose   its  effect,   to  pall. 

Comparatively  few  composers  have  taken  the  contrary  direction, 
i.  e.,  beginning  in  major  have  ended  in  minor.  A  temporary  excusion 
into  minor  with  return  to  niiijor  is  quite  common;  for  instance  in  the 
rondo,*  or   in   a   set  of  variationsf   but   in   such   cases   there   is  quite 

*V.  IV.  6.  (b)  below. 
XV.  IV,  4  below. 


4d The  Role  of  ExpEt'TATi'oN  in  Music . 

definite  expectation  of  the   return   to  major,  and   a   failure  to  return 
would  occasion  surprise. 

Tschaikowsky,  in  his  Symphony  No.  VI.  (Patetica),  has  a  near 
approach  to  the  contrary  direction".  The  first  movement  having  begun 
in  minor  closes  with  long  sustained  chords  in  major,  as  many  composi; 
tions  prevailingly  minor  do  close.  The  second  movement  takes  the 
relative  major  of  the  first  movement  and  maintains  it.  The  third 
movement  is  likewise  major  and  has  _  a  bright  atmosphere,  and  the 
composer  works  up  his  great  climax  in  this  mood.  The  sequence  of 
tonality  thus  far,  is  B  minor,  D  major,  G  major.  But  in  the  Finale 
he  goes  counter  to  expectation  on  two  points:  first,  he  reverts  to  the 
minor  tonality  of  the  first  movement  and  the  main  subject  is  persistent- 
ly minor  to  the  end;  second,  the  symphony  really  closes  with  the  slow 
movement.  Adagio.  And  in  addition  to  that,  since  he  closed  the 
preceding  Allegro  in  major,  fortissimo,  there  is  quite  a  strong  ex- 
pectation developed  of. eventual  return  to  major,  but  here  the  composer 
has  other  thoughts,  and  the  disappointment  he  furnishes  is  evidently 
intentional  and   has  its  aesthetic  value. 

4.  To  all  the  expectation  which  had  ever  gathered  about  the 
cadence,  the  finishing  touch  was  given  by  the  fixing  of  the  principle 
of  tonality  and  the  accepted  use  of  harmony.  It  was  no  longer  possible 
to  let  the  melody  come  to  a  final  pause  on  any  tone  of  the  scale  that 
happened  to  be  fundamental  of  the  particular  mode  used.  The  modes 
were  definitely  abandoned  and  the  diatonic  scale  reigned  supreme, 
with  its  implied  minor.  The  melody  was  now  expected  to  close  on 
one  of  the  tones  of  the  tonic  triad,  either  1  or  3  or  5,  with  tonic 
harmony.  There  are  several  possible  closing  melodic  sequences,  the 
most  satisfactory  being  the  descending  sequence  2-1,  the  ascend&g 
sequence  7-8  (or  the  lower  octave),  and  4-3.  The  heightenmg  of  ex- 
pectation that  resulted  when  harm.ony  furnished  its  background  to 
melody  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  presence  of  the  leading-tone,  7, 
in  the  penultimate  chord  made  the  succeeding  tonic  chord  inevi- 
table. Even  the  cadence  4-3,  semitone  though  it  be,  has  far  greater 
expectation  if  it  is  supported  by  dominant  harmony;  then,  however, 
in  the  chord  of  the  dominant  seventh,  no  matter  what  position  it  is  in, 
the  cadence  seems  assured  beyond  a  doubt.  And  the  completeness  of 
expectation  when  this  chord  appears  can  be  measured  by  the  satis- 
factoriness  of  the  tonic  chord  when  it  finally  enters.  The  cadence  4-3 
with  subdominant  triad  supporting  4  is  quite  allowable  on  account  of 
the  semi-tone;  but  it  is  not  final.  It  seems  possible  for  the  melody 
to  move  in  more  than  one  direction.  In  the  other  case  there  seems 
no  escape  from  the  final  tone.  It  is  even  possible  to  make  the  sequence 
6-5  seem  satisfactory  by  supporting  6  with  the  dominant  seventh 
chord;  the  tendency  inherent  in  6  to  lead  to  5  is  here  reinforced  by  the 
concentrated  expectation  of  that  chord,  and  5  with  tonic  harmony 
is  accepted,  indeed  seems  inevitable.  This  expectation  based  on 
dominant  seventh  can  be  still  further  intensified  by  repetition  or 
interruption  and  postponement.  A  fine  instance  of  repetition  is  in 
the  cadence  of  the  first  movement  of  Schumann's  Fantasie  in  C, 
Op.  17*1.  After  a  suggested  close  4-3  he  seems  to  give  a  real  cadence 
9-8;  but  even  a  repetition  of  the  latter  fails  to  satisfy  the  composer, 
and  a  third  time  he  anticipated  the  9  with  a  10  from  which  the  melody 
descends  after  a  pause  to  9,  which  is  sounded  repeatedly  while  the  full 
dominant  seventh  chord  is  held  suspended,  as  it  were,  above  it,  and 
then  finally  comes  to  rest  on  the  tonic.  An  example  of  postponement 
after  interruption  is  found  at  the  close  of  the  first  movement  of  Sonata 
Op.  53  of  Beethoven.  The  melodic  sequence,  as  it  has  appeared 
several  tim.es  during  the  movement,  is  5'6-7-8,  all  supported  "with  domi- 


' :    ;•  •"  ■       ■  •  HARMey?   •  •      .  -  '    r  '  • 41-. 

nant  seventh.. harmony  to  which  7  finally  adds  the,  finishing .  tpuch 
of  the  leading  tone.  But  .after  bringing  the  melody  to  the  7,  instea(3. 
of  satisfying  expectation  at  once,  the  composer  sustains  the  tone,  and 
then  gives  the  whole  sequence  an  octave  lower  with  the  one  alteration 
of  6b«  pausing  as  before  on  7  and  as  before  failing  to  give  the  expected 
tonic.  Again  the.  entire  sequence  is  transposed  an  octave  lower, 
and  this  time  after  longer  pause  on  both  6  and  7,  the  longed-for  tonic, 
follows. 

5.  It  can  be  concluded  from  what  has  just  been  said,  that  about 
the  greatest  shock  of  surprise  a  composer  can  administer  to  his  audience 
would  be  the  evasion  of  a  cadence.  Some  possible  forms  of  evasion 
are  quite  beyond  the  range,  of  what  we  can  assimilate  at  all,  to  say 
nothing  of  experience  pleasure  over.  A  writer  who,  for.  instance, 
prepares  a  regular  formal  cadence  with  the  melodic  sequence  3-2  sup- 
porlT^d  by  dominant  seventh  chord  and  then  suddenly  gave  the  chord, 
of  Ij^  as  final,*'  or  worse  still,  if  following  on  the  same  sequence  he 
closed  with  the  chord  of  4tf,  or  7b**:  would  practically  forfeit  claim 
to  consideration  as  a  composer.  It  might  be  done  once  as  a  mere- 
jest,  but  the  habit  would  be  fatal.  As  a  curious  experiment  I  have 
tried  the  first  of  the  two  evasions  above  suggested  repeatedly  on  my- 
self and  found  strangely  enough  that  the  abnormal  freakishness  of  it 
seemed  gradually  to  wear  off  to  a  certain  degree,  though  not  to  the 
point  of  actually  conferring  pleasure.  And  no  matter  how  far  afield 
a  composer  has  wandered  through  the  tonalities  and  harmonic  sequences 
that  the  system  permits,  the  approaching  close  of  his  work  acts  on  the 
m.elody  and  harmony  as  tte  north  pole  does  on  the  magnetized  needle 
and  they  verge  inevitably  by  some  route — it  may  be  purposely  circuit-, 
ous — toward  the  close  on  the  tonic  triad.  The  evasion  of  what  we  mav 
call  a  simulated  cadence  in  the  course  of  a  work  is  a  very  different 
matter  and  may  give  a  high  degree  of  pleasure.  Witness  the  beautiful 
passage  in  the  first  movement  introduction  to  Beethoven's  Sonata 
in  Efc>  No.  26.  The  melodic  sequence  3-2-1  is  given  complete,  really 
a  nepetiticm  of  the  opening  notes  of  the  introduction.  Then  the  only 
harmony  supporting  2  was  the  open  fifth  and  1  was  met  by  a  minor 
chord.  This  second  time  2  has  the  full  dominant  seventh  chord  and 
expectation  fastens  on  the  tonic  chord  to  follow;  instead  of  that  we 
hear  a  wholly  new  chord  in  a  remote  tonality,"  6I7,  and  this  tonality 
is  asserted  for  a  few  measures  to  make  us  familiar  with  it  before  we 
are  led  back.  But  it  may  be  well  to  point  out  a  couple  of  instances 
in  which  tonic  harmony  does  not  appear  as  expected.  One  such  is  the 
close  of  the  theme  of  Schumann's  Symphonic  Variations;  we  are  left 
with  the  dominant  chord  resting  on  its  middle  tone,**  7.  If  it  were 
intended  as  the  last  thing  to  be  heard  explanation  might  be  more 
difficult;  but  the  moment  one  hears  the  first  chord  of  the  variation 
immediately  following,  one  realizes  that  the  dominant  chord  with  the 
leading- tone  so  prominent  is  only  preparatory  to  the  returning  tonic. 
The  same  composer  closes  a  song  with  an  unresolved  discord  in  a 
remote  key,*'  and  this  is  a  more  radical  departure  and  is  only  partially 
explained  by  the  statement  that  it  is  one  of  a  series  of  songs,  that  the 
series  finds  a  satisfactory  close  in  the  last  song,  and  that  the  next 
song  of  the  series  furnishes  in  its  opening  chord  a  satisfactory  resolution. 
What  has  just  been  said  does  not  apply  to  numbers  in  opera  or  oratorio 
where  the  change  of  movement  or  mood  necessitates  changes  of  tonality- 
and  where  disappointment  over  cadence  may  be  the  very  aesthetic 
effect  aimed  at  by  the  composer.  This  is  one  of  the  radical  innovations, 
of  Wagner  on  the  conventional  opera,  which  was  little  more  musically, 
than  a  series  of  set  pieces  each  with  its  complete  satisfying  climax 
and  cadence.  The  case  is  wholly  different  in  a  detached  composition. - 
not  a  member  of  a  series.     Disappointment  with- reference  to  a- proper: 


42'  .         The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

cadence  would  here  come  perilously  near  the  line  which  maflcs  off  that 
which  is  beyond  the  power  of  apperception.  We  have  learned  to 
assimilate  sudden  changes  of  tonality  without  preparation  through 
m.odulation — though  many  who  listen  carry  away  very  vague  feelings 
as  to  the  meaning  and  value  of  it  all — but  to  wait  with  full  expectation 
all  through  a  composition  of  some  length  for  the  haven  of  safety  and 
then  find  oneself  at  sea.  is  most  disconcerting,  to  put  it  mildly.  Some 
such  §oal  may  be  no  farther  from  us  in  the  music  of  the  future  than 
the  dissonant  blends  and  sudden  modulations  of  our  day  are  distant 
from  the  naive  simplicity  of  a  Haydn,  or  even  from  popular  music 
of  today,  and  it  may  require  no  more  of  eflFort  and  habituation. 

6.  (a).  Modulation  is  essentially  the  outgrowth  of  simple  harmonic 
sequence  and  like  that  needed  as  prerequisite  the  principle  of  tonality 
and  the  tempered  scale.  It  is  the  effort  to  hold  for  continuous  im- 
pression some  one  of  the  chords  that  might  follow  in  natural  sequence 
from  a  given  tonic.  This  view  of  the  case  is  corroborated  by  the  re- 
sults of  a  statistical  study  of  modulation  in  the  same  composers  that 
furnished  data  concerning  melody.  We  have  seen  above  that  the 
chord  most  readily  anticipated  in  sequence  from  the  tonic  at  the 
beginning  of  a  composition  is  the  dominant  based  on  5;  now  if  the 
above  view  is  correct  we  should  infer  that  the  modulation  most  ex- 
pected at  or  near  the  beginning  was  that  to  5  as  a  new  tonality, 
temporary  indeed,  yet  real.  So  in  the  statistical  inquiry  of  which  a 
report  is  to  be  presented,  there  was  no  thought  of  proving  to  what 
different  tonalities  composers  might  and  do  modulate;  the  only  question 
raised  was  this:  what  is  the  first  modulation  most  apt  to  be  introduced 
after  the  opening  of  a  piece  or  a  new  theme  in  a  piece?  In  this 
investigation  no  fugues  were  included  because  it  is  in  the  very  structure 
of  the  fugue,  as  will  be  pointed  out  below  (v.  IV,  6,  (a)  below),  that 
the  second  statement  of  the  subject  is  in  the  dominant;  hence  there  is 
no  choice  about  it,  though  it  has  some  weight  as  confirming  the  result.- 
Moreover,  cases  of  m.odulation  from  minor  to  relative  major  or  from 
major  to  minor  are  treated  as  a  special  class,  because  such  transitions 
are  so  readily  made  and  do  not  involve  any  alteration  of  the  scale 
intervals  as  do  the  modulations  to  5  or  other  tones. 

Over  seven  hundred  miscellaneous  compositions  were  examined' 
for  this  purpose,  the  composers  ranging  from  Bach  down  to  Liszt, 
Grieg,  Tschaikowsky  and  the  modern  French;  including  works  from  the 
strictly  classical  to  the  lighter  and  the  silliest  popular,  the  aim  being 
to  secure  as  many-sided  testimony  as  possible.  Including  provisionally 
the  changes  involving  minor  (either  to  or  from)  the  modulation  to  5 
is  the  first  to  occur  in  over  seventy-three  percent,  of  the  compositions; 
and  if  those  cases  of  minor  be  omitted  5  is  the  new  tonic  in  ninety-two 
per  cent.  Those  cases  of  minor  amounted  to  less  than  twenty-one  per 
cent,  of  the  total,  while  all  other  modulations  combined  amounted  to 
only  about  six  per  cent.  (N.  B.  as  the  first  modulation  to  occur  in  a 
piece  or  theme.) 

There  are  two  interpretations  of  which  these  facts  are  susceptible, 
both  of  which  are  valid  and  point  to  the  same  conclusion.  First, 
the  composers  in  resorting  to  that  modulation  with  such  overwhelming 
frequency,  as  compared  with  any  other,  are  in  reality  reflecting  the 
mind  of  the  music-loving  public.  And  second,  their  frequent  use  of 
the  modulation  has  had  its  share  in  habituating  the  present  generation 
so  that  it  is  the  one  expected.  There  is  also  a  certain  significance  of 
another  kind  in  the  modulations  represented  in  the  six  per  cent,  (or 
eight  per  cent  excluding  the  minors).  Out  of  forty-two,  twenty  or 
nearly  fifty  per  cent  were  to  3  as  the  new  tonality,  and  eight  were 
to  4.  That  is,  the  remaining  tone  of  the  tonic  triad,  3  (the  tonic 
and  5  being  respectively  original  tonality  and  most  frequent  modula- 


•     Harmon^'  • 43 

tion),  has  nearly  as  many  cases  as  all  the  other  tones  of  the  scale,  and 
next  in  order  of  frequency  stands  the  base  of  the  subdominant  chord. 
It  should  be  explained  with  regard  to  the  latter  that  no  cases  of 
transition  to  4  in  passing  from  first  section  to  trio  in  marches,  minuets 
a:nd  the  like  was  considered  as  modulation  in  the  present  inquiry,  for 
a  reason  analogous  to  that  which  ruled  out  the  fugue;  i.  e.,  the  almost 
invariable  tendency  in  such  cases,  amountmg  to  custom,  is  to  use  4  as 
the  new  tonality,  the  exceptions  being  changes  from  minor  to  major 
or  vice  versa,  or  retention  of  the  same  tonality.  Another  significant 
fact  is  that  it  is  the  more  recent  composers  who  show  more  freedom 
(I  refer,  of  course,  to  composers  of  rank;  the  caterers  to  public  favor 
hardly  seem  to  be  awake  to  anything  but  the  dominant)  in  the  use  of 
modulations  and  some  seem  to  feel  and  even  express  a  sense  of  tyranny 
exercised  by  the  dominant.  Wagner  was  a  conspicuous  innovator  in 
that  direction,  but  his  treatment  occasioned  greater  surprise  and  protest 
at  disregard  of  well-established  rule  and  precedent,  than  of  pleasure. 
But  he  by  no  means  throws  m.odulation  to  dominant  into  the  discard; 
it  stil'  remains  the  first  place  in  many  of  his  works,  though  more 
frequent  in  the  earlier. 

In  the  works  of  Liszt  that  were  examined,  the  modulation  to  all 
other  tones  exceeded  in  frequency  those  to  5,  but  the  latter  occurred 
more  frequently  than  any  one  other  one.  In  Grieg,  on  the  other  hand, 
5  is  far  in  the  lead.  Now  whatever  may  be  said  as  to  the  desirability 
of  freedom  in  modulation,  of  its  place  in  the  progress  of  music  as  an 
art,  the  inference  seems  to  be  justified  from  the  facts  above  adduced 
that  the  definite  expectation  of  the  music-loving  public  in  listening 
to  a  new  piece  of  music  is  fully  satisfied  on  hearing  the  modulation 
to  5  before  that  to  any  other  of  the  eleven  other  possible  modulations 
of  the  tempered  scale.     This  expectation  is  often   heightened  in  com- 

Eosers  who  very  rarely  use  any  other  modulation  early  in  their  works 
y  an  apparent  start  in  another  direction,  which  proves  after  all 
to  be  a  mere  postponement  and  adds  to  the  pleasure  and  satisfaction 
when  finally  it  is  heard.  "   -' 

It  is  implied  in  the  above  that  not  only  any  tone  of  the  diatonic 
scale  but  any  of  the  intermediate  tones  as  well  can  become  in  turn 
the  fundamental  of  a  new  tonality.  The  relation  of  the  tones  of  the 
new  scale  to  the  new  tonic  is  the  same  as  in  the  former  tonic  or  in 
the  standard  scale  of  C;*  they  have  the  same  tone-color  or  psychological 
value,  plus  whatever  difference  may  result  from  change  of  pitch. 
This  does  not  imply,  however,  thsct  the  new  tonic  itself  has  the  same 
psychological  value  (except  as  base  of  the  scale)  as  the  former  tonic 
or  the  standard  C.  The  value  of  the  new  tonic  depends  on  two 
circumstances;  first,  the  psychological  value  of  the  tone,  which  has 
become  tonic,  in  the  standard  scale  of  C;  and  Second,  the  ease  of 
transition  in  the  modulation.  Thus  the  value  of  G  as  tonic  in  the 
signature  of  one  sharp  depends  both  on  the  tone-color  of  G  in  the 
scale  of  C  and  on  the  ea,se.with  which  one  can  modulate  from  C  to  G. 
The  latter  point  also  appears  when  one  modulates  from,  say  B  flat,  to 
D:  the  tone-color  of  D  in  the  scale  of  B  flat  has  its  share  in  the  value 
of  D  as  tonic  in  such  a,. modulation. 

The  ease  of  modulation  as  an  element  in  fixing  expectation  needs 
further  elucidation.  The  change  to  5  as  new  tonic  is  accomplished 
by  simply  substituting  ^^  for  4,  which  then  serves  as  a  leading  tone  to 
5.  The  change  thus  resulting  from  a  rise  in  pitch  and  establishing 
the  brilliant  tone  5  as  new  tonic  has  an  exhilarating,  freshening,  .some- 
times almost  exciting  eflfect,  appropriate  to  the  psychological  value  of 

*The  convenience  of  the  tone  C  for  voices,  a  sort  of  meelini;    place   of    male"  and    fe- 
'  male  compass,  had'  its  influence  in  selecting  it  as  standard. 


44 


The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


a  in  the  original  tonality.  The  emergence  of  this  modulation  so 
frequently  early  in  a  composition  seerns  to  indicate  a  sort  of  instinctive 
demand  for  something  stirring,  for  bright  color  comparatively  soon 
after  the  beginning.  A  corresponding  change  by  lowering  of  pitch, 
i.  e.,  by  substituting  7  flat  for  7  and  making  that  the  4  of  a  new 
scale,  brings  the  tonality  to  the  fifth  below  the  former  tonic,  to  its  4. 
That  7  flat  becomes  the  upper  tone  of  a  new  dominant  seventh  chord 
from  which  we  pass  easily  into  the  new  tonic.  But  the  eflfect  of  this 
is  in  strong  contrast  to  the  effect  of  the  change  to  5  and  is  in  keeping 
with  the  psychological  value  of  4,  which  we  saw  to  be  sobering,  calming. 
For  this  reason  in  spite  of  the  ease  of  transition  it  is  rarely  resorted 
to  early  in  a  composition,  and  the  eflfect  of  it  can  be  clearly  felt  when 
used  as,  for  instance,  in  Beethoven's  Quartet  in  E  flat  major,  in  which 
that  new  dominant  seventh  chord  formed  by  flatting  7  follows  im- 
mediately on  the  tonic  chord.^"  But  the  calming  eflfect  is  sought 
toward  the  end  of  a  piece  and  then  this  modulation  is  heard  very 
frequently.  It  is  this  same  sobering  eflfect  that  is  sought  as  a  pleasing 
contrast  after  the  bright  and  inspiring  movement  in  minuets,  marches 
and  the  like,  after  which  the  trio  is  therefore  almost  always  on  4  as. 
the  new  tonic.  But  the  trios  themselves  need  brightening  within 
their  own  limits,  as  shown  by  the  fact  that  in  them  in  the  great 
majority  of  cases  tonality  passes  first  to  5,  before  any  other  modulation. 
This  same  process  of  sharping  4  and  flatting  7  can  be  successively 
repeated  until  finally  the  two  processes  moving  in  opposite  directions 
meet  on  the  same  tone — this  being  a  consequence  of  the  tempered 
scale.  The  entire  series  of  twelve  tonalities  can  be  represented  by  a 
circle  traversed  by  six  diameters  dividing  the  perimeter  into  twelve 
equal  arcs.  Each  end  of  a  diameter  stands  for  a  different  tonality. 
Let  the  diameter  ending  at  the  topmost  point  of  the  circle  stand  for 
the  standard  scale  of  C,  then  the  points  to  the  right  may  represent 
the  tonalities  formed  by  successive  sharping  of  4,  the  points  to  the 
left  those  fomied  by  successive  flatting  of  7.  There  are  six  of  each  and 
in  a  keyed  instrument  the  sixth  of  each  coincide,  G!>  (for  six  flats) 
and  F^  (for  six  sharps)  being  identical.  The  signature  of  seven  sharps 
is  found,  but  in  keys  of  the  piano  it  is .  identical  with  five  flats;  so,, 
likewise  seven  flats  is  identical  with  five  sharps;  these  are  found  in 
both  major  and  minor.  From  such  a  plotting  of  the  twelve  (or  fifteen) 
possible  tonalities  it  is  possible  to  tell  by  simple  inspection  how  many 


A   3* 


6^G»  Fl  6t 


times  4  must  be  successively  sharped  or  7  be  flatted  (as  the  case  rnay 
be)  in  order  to  reach  any  given  tonality  from  any  given  starting-point. 
If  the  signature  already,  has  sharps  or  flats-  then  progress .  to  the ;  right 


Harmony  •  • 4r» 

(from  the  top,  following  the  hands  of  a  clock)  involves  adding  a  sharp 
or  deducting  a  flat  for  each  successive  step,  while  progress  in  the 
opposite  direction  involves  adding  a  flat  or  deducting  a  sharp,  and  the 
sixth  such  change  is  always  the  meeting  place  of  the  two  series.  \ow 
if  the  expectation  of  the  modulation  to  5,  as  it  appears  in  the  statistics 
given  above,  held  strictly  around  the  circle,  the  degree  of  expectation 
of  any  given  modulation  from  any  given  starting-point  could  be  exactly 
measured  by  the  number  of  intermediate  steps  to  the  right,  each  of 
which  represents  one '  modulation  to  5.  On  that  basis,  the  expectation 
of  a  modulation  to  2  would  be  twice  as  strong  as  of  modulation  to  3 
us  it  involves  only  two  changes  to  5  while  the  latter  involves  four 
such  changes.  But  here  the  statistics  seem  to  almost  contradict 
each  other;  for  as  was  pointed  out  above,  there  were  twenty  cases 
of  modulation  to  3  in  the  seven  hundred  compositions  examined, 
but  not  a  single  instance  was  noted  (though  there  are  cases)  of  the 
modulation  to  2.  The  importance  3  enjoys  as  a  member  of  the  tonic 
triad,  seems  to  offset  the  number  of  intermediate  steps  in  affecting 
expectation. 

But  when  a  composer  introduces  a  modulation  involving  several 
such  steps,  it  does  not  follow  that  all  the  intermediate  steps  are  ex- 
plicitly taken;  there  are  ways  of  leaping.  The  efficient  means  of 
modulating  most  often  used  is  the  dominant  seventh  chord  which 
through  the  two  half  steps  it  suggests  (7-8  and  4  to  3)  rouses  confident 
expectation  of  the  new  tonic  to  follow.  But  the  circle  shows  at  a 
glance  what  steps  are  implicit  in  ariy  effected  modulation,  and  the  two 
signatures'  at  the  two  ends  of  any  diameter  represent  the  tonalities 
that  are  farthest  removed  from  each  other,  i.  e.,  that  require  the 
greatest  number  of  intermediate  steps.  Modern  writers  have  worked 
out  many  short-cuts  that  facilitate  quick  changes  to  remote  tonalities, 
and  the  rapid  shifting  some  of  them  present  is  like  a  series  of  dis- 
solving views,  the  relation  of  tonalities  to  each  other  and  to  the  move- 
ment of  a  composition  being  reduced  to  a  sort  of  fluid  condition; 
one  is  conscious  of  movement,  shifts  of  key  relationship,  but  somehow 
e.xpectation  is  held  more  or  less  in  abeyance,  and  there  is  little  or  no 
surprise  at  changes  that  otherwise  would  almost  shock.  It  must  be 
said  that  some  composers  have  resorted  to  sudden  changes  of  tonality 
as  a  cover  for  poverty  of  invention  or  weakness  of  elaboration.  Schu- 
bert notably  shows  in  many  longer  works  a  lack  of  sustained  construct- 
ive power  and  seeks  to  maintain  interest  by  substituting  for  it  (not 
consciously  of  course)  frequent  and  sudden  change  of  tonality.  One 
chknge  that  is  quite  frequent  with  him  is  that  to  6  flat;  for  instance, 
from  C  to  A  flat  in  the  Finale  of  the  Symphony  in  C,^i  and  from 
D  to  B  flat  in  the  Sonata  in  D".  He  does  not  stop  for  a  dominant 
seventh  chord,  but  just  takes  a  leap.  To  those  habituated  to  the  more 
staid  or  solid  modulations  of  a  Mozart  or  a  Beethoven,  these  surprises 
of  Schubert  may  be  delicious  in  their  interest;  but  his  frequent  use 
of  the  device  betrays  its  essential  poverty  and  does  not  replace  thematic 
development  as  a  permanent  source  of  interest  and  satisfaction.  Another 
composer  who  frequently  encounters  the  same  pitfall  was  one  of  the 
foremost  musicians  of  the  nineteenth  century,  Franz  Liszt.'  In  his 
original  works,  those  in  which  he  is  not  merely  presenting  in  '  em- 
bellished fonn  the  ideas  of  others,  he  no  sooner  announces  a  subject 
but  he  seems  at  a  loss  what  else  to  do  with  it  except  to  repeat  it 
intact  half  a  dozen  times  in  as  many  different  tonalities,  the  more 
remote  the  better.  There  is  use  of  modulation  with  its  surprise  as 
an  end  in  itself,  and  as  a  consequence  many  of  his  works  seem  un- 
substantial and  hardly  compensate  in  interest  the  energy  demanded 
to  master  the  technical  difficulties  involved.  In  such  cases  the  surprise 
is  occasioned  by  passing  over  the  dead  of  the  dominant  seventh  chord 


46 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

in  modulating  or  by  leaping  beyond  the  expected  5  to  some  remoter 
tonality  without  the  intermediate  step;  in  either  case  it  degenerated 
very  readily  into  a  mannerism  and  the  surprise  loses  its  interest. 

After  the  expected  first  modulation  to  5  there  is  at  once  confident 
expectation  of  eventual  return  to  the  original  tonic.  Often  this  ex- 
pectation is  met  at  once  by  removing  the  sharp  on  4  and  restoring 
that  tone  to  its  place  in  the  dominant  seventh  chord,  and  this  is  en- 
tirely satisfactory,  other  things  being  equal.  But  very  often  we  are 
allowed  to  move  for  a  time  in  the  new  tonality  and  are  led  farther 
afield,  especially  in  the  recapitulation  section  of  a  piece  in  sonata  form. 
This  is  recognized  subconsciously  or  consciously  as  a  postponement 
of  the  inevitable,  a  keeping  up  of  Ifhe  suspense  (not  to  say,  prolonging 
the  agony),  until  the  final  restoration  of  4  (instead  of  4#)  gives  the  signal 
that  the  original  tonality  is  to  be  in  force  again,  which  is  a  pleasant 
relief.  After  other  modulations  also  the  same  expectation  of  return 
to  original  tonic  is  equally  operative,  but  sometimes  the  return  is 
accomplished  without  the  signal  of  the  dominant  seventh  chord.  But 
in  many  and  many  a  sonata  form  movement  that  signal  is  given 
with  great  emphasis  when  the  main  subject  is  to  be  resumed  in  its 
original  tonality.  The  failure  to  return  to  the  original  tonic,  the 
entire  and  final  evasion  of  this  conformity  to  expectation  is  about  as 
rare  as  the  evasion  of  a  cadence  and  is  found  most  often  in  works 
where  continuity  of  parts  and  change  of  mood  is  demanded,  as  in 
operas,  oratorios  and  the  like.  Such  an  evasion  in  a  detached  piece 
is  about  as  disconcerting  as  the  evasion  of  a  cadence.  The  entrance 
of  a  subject  the  second  time  in  a  lower  or  higher  tonality  is  a  surprise 
that  may  have  a  desired  aesthetic  effect  and  may  charm,  but  there 
is  still  expectation  of  the  return  of  the  original  tonic,  and  in  the  vast 
majority  of  cases,  it  is  satisfied — even  by  the  modernists.  The  evasion 
is  of  that  class  of  sequences  that  turn  very  readily  into  an  unpleasant 
mannerism. 

The  modern  freedom  of  modulation  as  compared  with  the  sobriety 
and  restraint — some  are  inclined  to  call  it  stiffness — of  the  eighteenth 
century  is  well  illustrated  in  a  short  passage  from  the  Pilgrim  Chorus 
in  "Tannhauser",  immediately  following  the  modulation  to  5,  not  far 
from  the  beginning,  which  the  composer  uses  first  quite  in  keeping 
with  expectation.  Instead  of  returning  at  once  to  the  original  tonic, 
he  lets  the  melody  leap  an  octave  from  B  to  B  as  if  to  start  a  little 
excursion  in  the  new  tonality.  But  he  shifts  suddenly  in  the  next 
chord  to  minor,  letting  us  hear  the  subdominant  of  B  minor,  the  E  minor 
chord;  slides  from  that  into  the  temporary  minor  tonic  chord  and 
follows  it  up  by  its  dominant  chord  of  F  sharp  with  the  leading  tone 
A  sharp  in  the  melody.  On  hearing  the  latter,  we  fully  expect  return 
of  the  B  minor  chord,  but  are  surprised  by  the  melody  dropping  a  semi- 
tone instead,  while  the  bass  rises  a  semi-tone;  and  we  find  ourselves 
in  the  relative  major  of  B  minor,  D  major,  which  is  quite  satisfactory 
in  spite  of  the  pleasing  surprise.  Beginning  again  with  the  leap  of  an 
octave  seemingly  in  the  key  of  D,  Wagner  makes  the  same  shift  to 
D  minor  as  before  to  B  minor,  and  repeats  in  that  pitch  the  exact 
sequence  entire,  landing  us  in  the  key  of  F.  Again  a  third  time  the 
same  start  is  made  and  the  same  sequence  follows  up  to  the  point 
where  the  melody  dropping  a  semi-tone  while  the  bass  rises  would 
give  the  key  of  A  flat;  but  the  expectation  developed  by  a  sort  of 
mcipient  habit  is  not  fulfilled,  for  the  bass  continues  to  descend  by- 
half  steps  resulting  in  the  chord  of  B  major,  which  slides  into  a  domi- 
nant seventh  chord  with  flattened  5  (P  natural  instead  of  F  sharp). 
This  rouses  expectation  of  returning  original  tonic  of  E  major;  it  is 
fulfilled,  but  not  for  long.  That  chord  of  E  is  treated  as  the  dominant 
of  A  minor  into  which  we  are  led,  only  to  shift  again  to  its  relative 


Harmony 47 

major  of  C.  From  this  through  a  quick  transition  chord  of  A  minor 
we  find  ourselves  back  in  the  B  major  chord  with  which  the  whole 
process  started.^'  In  the  repetition  of  the  process  that  now  is  begun 
expectation  can  follow  from  step  to  step,  finding  exact  fulfillment  up 
to  the  return  into  E  major;  here  a  new  turn  is  given  by  retaining 
D  sharp  in  the  melody  and  entering  by  the  simplest  sequence  into  the 
same  chord  of  B  major  which  is  now  manifestly  dominant  to  E; 
and  so,  the  original  tonic  is  restored  in  full  sway. 

As  intimated  above,  Wagner  v/as  a  great  innovator  in  such  treat- 
ment of  modulation,  though  Schumann  has  pasages  that  are  almost 
if  not  quite  as  venturesome.* 

Since  then  the  later  composers  have  in  some  instances  carried 
modulation  to  the  point  of  hardly  waiting  to  define  the  tonality  of  a 
work  before  they  begin  to  depart  from  it  by  such  devious  wanderings 
that  it  becomes  difficult  to  follow  them.  Max  Reger,  for  instance, 
seems  to  be  fairly  restless  in  any  tonaUty  with  which  he  starts  out, 
and  frequently  with  any  into  which  he  leads  us;  he  is  always  on  the 
move,  and  while  he  does  not  neglect  thematic  development  (as  some 
do)  he  seems  to  enjoy  exhibiting  his  virtuosity  in  modulation.  The 
merely  sensuous  effect  is  often  pleasing  in  an  unexpected  sonority 
of  sound  that  falls  on  the  ear.  But  it  gives  the  impression  of  having 
no  starting-point,  no  terminus  a  quo,  and  in  the  course  of  its  seemingly 
uncertain  tentative  steps,  appears  to  have  no  terminus  ad  quern. 
This  is  not  to  be  taken  as  impugning  the  sincerity  of  all  such  composers; 
it  is  simply  looking  at  their  work  from  the  standpoint  of  the  audience, 
the  unsophisticated  would-be  musical  public.  The  perplexity  of  mind 
with  -which  they  listen  to  music  of  this  type  is  sufficient  evidence 
of  their  lack  of  habituation;  there  was  nothing  to  serve  as  a  pou  sto 
for  expectation,  and  but  for  the  power  of  public  opinion  known  as 
fashion,  the  majority  would  frankly  admit  that  they  had  been  in- 
sufferably bored. 

b.  One  of  the  short  cuts  resorted  to  in  modulation,  to  which 
reference  has  been  made,  calls  for  special  mention.  It  is  that  which  is 
termed  the  enharmonic  change.  The  basis  of  this  is  the  fact  that 
each  tone  of  the  tempered  scale  and  the  intermediate  tones  as  well — 
the  entire  chromatic  series — may  belong  to  three  major  and  three 
minor  triads,  besides  ser\'ing  in  four  dominant  seventh  chords  and  a 
diminished  seventh  chord.  Any  one  of  the  six  triads  may  become  the 
tonic  triad  of  a  tonality  and  each  of  the  dominant  seventh  chords 
and  the  diminished  seventh  chord  may  introduce  to  a  new  tonality. 
When  any  tone  is  approached  from  a  certain  harmonic  or  melodic 
sequence,  the  listener  expects  that  tone  to  keep  its  place  in  the  tonality 
that  led  to  it  and  act  in  turn  as  transition  to  other  tones  and  harmonies 
that  are  at  home  in  the  same  tonality.  But  the  plans  of  the  composer 
conflict  with  this  expectation;  by  a  sudden  turn  and  without  any  of 
the  intermediate  steps  of  a  modulating  series  that  would  be  an  aid  to 
expectation,  he  leaps  at  once  from  the  tonality  in  which  the  tone  was 
first  heard  to  one  tnat  may  be  quite  remote,  and  the  interest  and  pleas- 
ure of  this  maneuver  are  due  largely  to  the  surprise.  The  listener 
finds  himself  transported  to  new  realms  rather  suddenly,  and  re-ad- 
Justments  of  attention  are  frequently  necessary.  The  degree  of  surprise 
is  dependent   largely  on   the   remoteness  of   the   tonality   chosen. 

This  is  manifestly  a  marked  advance  in  subtlety  and  power  of 
expression  and  is  more  frequent  in  the  modern  phases  of  music.  Yet 
Haydn  makes  use  of  it  more  than  once,  perhaps  the  most  striking 
example  being  in  the  Fifth  Symphony.  The  subject  is  quite  in  Haydn's 
style,    likewise   the   bulk   of   the   harmony,    although   he   postpones   the 

*Se«  tfaa  aualysia  of  hia  Sonata  in  F  gharp  minor  undar  IV,  &,  Cc)  below..  . . 


48 Thij:  Roll:  of  Bxpectation  in  Music 

usual  modulation  into  5  until  after  two  short  repeats.  But  having 
modulated  he  starts  off  as  if  he  meant  to  continue  in  the  new  tonality, 
for  which  also  he  uses  a  second  subject.  With  this  he  modulates 
easily  into  the  relative  minor  of  the  original  tonality,  B  minor,  and 
from  there  by  an  easy  series  of  progressions  to  F  sharp  minor,  the 
chord  by  which  he  enters  being  the  dominant,  C  sharp.  Several 
repetitions  of  a  part- of  his  main  subject  in  this  chord  serve  to  empha- 
size it  and  he  fixes  the  base  of  the  chord  in  our  minds  by  reiterating  it 


t  n  [J  n'lj 


with  the  following  rhythm :  — ♦ — # — 0 — j-J # — J  ■  1  J —    with  leaps  of 

an  octave.  The  same  figure  is  continued  in  the  basses  alone,  and  then 
suggestions  of  it  pianissimo,  still  on  C  sharp,  leaving  the  definite 
expectation  that  after  the  brief  silence  he  would  resume  in  the  same 
tonality.  And  then  comes  the  true  surprise  for  which  he  has  but  been 
preparing  us.  Having  entered  the  chord  of  C  sharp  by  onei  route, 
puddenly  he  indicates  that  its  base  is  to  resume  its  former  function 
^s  leading-tone  to  the  original  tonic,  D,  by  giving  the  end  of  the  above 

figure        ^      J     J    I   J  fortissimo  on  D,'*  in  all  parts.     Then   with 

ho  further  ceremony  he  starts  up  his  first  subject  again  as  if  da_  capo* 
A  somewhat  similar  sequence  is  given  9.gain  but  a  few  measures  later. 
The  rarity  of  such  moments  in  Haydn  enhances  their  aesthetic  value; 
but  by  contrast  the  frequency  of  them  in  Max  Reger  tends  to  make 
ithem  common-place.  In  some  works  he  hardly  allows  the  listener 
time  to  get  adjusted  to  one  tonality  into  which  he  has  just  leaped 
before  it  turns  out  to  be  a  mere  springboard  for  the  new  leap,  with 
consequent  confusion.  Bach,  Beethoven,  Schumann  and  Brahms  reveal 
in  their  works  entire  familiarity  with  the  device,  but  do  not  use  it  for 
its  own  sake, 

c.  When  there  appears  in  connection  with  a  chord  (or  two  tones 
of  a  chord)  another  tone  that  is  discordant,  expectation  is  immediately 
aroused  of  a  chord  to  follow  with  the  discord  eliminated.  For  instance, 
the  combination  C-F-G  leads  us  to  expect  either  C-E-G,  or  C-P-A, 
gnd  other  things  being  equal  the  one  is  as  satisfactory  as  the  other. 
About  the  mildest  form  of  discord  is  the  so-called  dominant  seventh 
chord,  in  which  the  base  of  the  triad  may  be  adjacent  to  the  dis- 
cordant 4  or  separated  by  nearly  an  octave:  Oiir  ears  are  so  thoroughly 
habituated  to  hearing  this  combination  G-B-D-F — or  its  equivalent  in 
different  positions  and  tonalities — in  cadences  and  other  sequences, 
that  it  hardly  gives  us  the  impression  of  being  discordant;  especially 
when  it  is  supported  by  a  good  bass.  But  sounding  adjacent  F  and  G 
together,  with  nothing  to  take  off  the  edge  of  the  discord,  betrays 
its  true  nature;  and  doubtless  more  delicate  ears  were  offended  by  it 
on  its  first  introduction  than  were  by  the  third  in  a  tri^d  when  it 
first  found  its  place.  One  means  of  reconciling  music-lovers  to  it  was 
the  delightful  change  when  the  expected  tonic  chord  followed  after. 
And  it  is  the  element  of  mild  discord  in  it  that  creates  the  expectation 
of  change,!  an  expectation  still  operative  to  listeners  who  are  sophisticat- 
ed and  who  might  deny  that  it  wds  discordant  at  all.  The  change 
from  such  a  discordant  combination  to  one  free  from  discord,  is  what 

*'For  a  somewhat   different   interpretation   of   this   passage,   see   "Beethoven   and    his 

Forerunners,"  by  Daniel  Gregory  Mason,  p.  207. 
tThe  baU^stepa  B-C  and  F-£  indicate  the  direction  of  «hange;  th«  discord  as  such 

ealls  for  B9io«  change.  .  ....... 


^ Harmony '_ 4d 

musicians   have   termed    "resolution"    and   the   tima  during   which   the 
discord  is  held  is  "suspension." 

Now  there  was  the  material  for  suspension  at  a  very  early  stage 
of  music,  when,  for  instance,  a  melody  touched  upon  tones  that  made 
a  dissonance  with  the  fifth  or  triad  sounded  by  instruments.  There 
was  strong  expectation  that  such  a  melody  would  not  tarry  long  on 
those  discordant  tones;  but  if  a  composer  or  artist  had  so  tarried  there 
would  have  been,  along  with  the  surprise  of  it,  expectation  heightened 
to  impatience  that  he  pass  on  to  the  next  tone  of  the  melody.  And 
that  is  exactly  the  effect  of  suspension  now.*  The  degree  of  expecta- 
tion is  measured  in  part  by  the  intensity  of  the  dissonance. 

In  the  Fifth  Symphony  just  before  the  entrance  of  the  Finale, 
the  mild  dissonance  of  the  dominant  seventh  chord  is  much  sharpened 
by  sounding  the  tonic  at  the  same  time.  When  consecutive  semi-tones 
are  heard  together,  the  irritation  of  the  dissonance  not  only  creates 
displeasure  but  lively  expectation  as  well;  and  it  must  take  a  long 
disciplinary  course  of  ear-training  before  successive  leaps  from  one 
strident  discord  to  another — like  those  affected  by  Leo  Ornstein — 
can  afford  anything  but  acute  displeasure  to  the  sensitively  endowed. 
7.  (a)  The  keenness  of  expectancy  noted  in  suspension  above  is 
at  its  height  when  to  the  discord  is  added  the  weight  of  the  stressed 
beat  and  a  more  or  less  prolonged  hold  in  some  part.  An  illustration 
of  this  is  found  in  Beethoven's  Sonata  No.  14,  in  the  first  movement, 
the  sixteenth  measure.  The  harmony  indicated  in  the  previous  measure 
is  B  major  (dominant  of  E,  which  in  turn  is  relative  major  of  the  tonali- 
ty of  the  movement,  C#  minor),  and  the  harmony  of  the  figured  ac- 
companiment passes  here  to  R  minor;  but  the  melody  passes  from 
B  to  C  natural,  while  the  bass  sustains  B  for  a  beat,  and  the  first  tone 
of  the  figure  is  also  B,  these  being  both  in  sharp  dissonance  with 
C  natural  of  the  melody.  Now  while  in  the  bass  the  successive  tones 
of  the  E  minor  triad  (E  and  G  natural)  relieve  the  tension  at  that 
point,  the  B  in  the  figured  accompaniment  (B-E-G)  is  repeated  at 
each  beat  so  that  the  ear  is  reminded  of  the  dissonance  with  the 
sustained  C  of  the  melody.  On  the  fourth  beat  the  melody  shifts 
while  the  figure  is  continued,  but  a  new  dissonance  takes  the  place  of 
the  old,  A#  against  B;  then  follows  in  the  next  measure  the  resolution 
to  the  ch(5rd  of  B  major.'"  I  suspect  that  the  Aft  takes  the  place 
of  a  repeated  C  natural;  the  dissonance  was  dying  away  with  that 
sustained  tone  and  the  A^  renews  it,  at  the  same  time  adding  more 
interest  than  a  mere  repetition.  The  main  point  is  that  in  this  measure 
the  expectation  is  intensified  by  the  combined  action  of  rhythm — the 
stressed  beat — melody — the  sustained  tone — and  harmony — the  discord; 
the  chord  of  B  in  the  next  measure  is  a  relief  after  rather  prolonged 
suspense.  Such  cases  are  entirely  apart  from  a  cadence,  though  in  the 
first  movement  of  the  B  flat  Sonata  (Op.  106),  there  is  a  long  series 
of  suspensions  in  which  the  sustaining  appears  in  the  figured  bass, 
beginning  twenty  measures  before  the  end  and  preparing  for  the  cadence, 
which  then  follows  in  the  straight  B  flat  chord. '^ 

b.  The  cadence  with  suspension  as  it  is  frequently  used  in  classical 
music,  seems  to  have  been  discovered  by  Haydn — I  recall  no  instance 
in  Bach  or  other  earlier  writers.  In  it  is  centered  all  the  expectation 
just  spoken  of  with  some  added  features  that  are  worth  analyzing. 
As  used  frequently  by  Beethoven,  it  involves  several  elements  of 
suspense  and  expectation  not  found  in  the  ordinary  suspension.  In 
the  first  place,   the  preceding   melodic   sequence  points  definitely  to  a 

*The  transition  made-  by  Beethoven  into  the  Finale  of  the  Fifth  Symphony,  described 
under  3,  above,  ia  really  a  case  of  suspension  and  resolution;  the  object  of  that 
analysis  was  to  point  out  the  effect  of  change  from  minor  to  major. 


50 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

cadence,  with  some  tone  of  the  dominant  seventh  chord  preceding  the 
tonic;  the  most  frequent  is  2,  but  5  occurs  in  the  First  Sonata,* 
7  in  the  Fifteenth,!  and  4  in  the  Thirtieth.^'*  To  this  is  added  the 
presence  of  the  full  chord  (usually),  which  of  itself  leads  to  expectation 
of  the  tonic.  Then  thirdly,  the  tone  of  that  c^ord  is  heard  on  the 
rhythmic  accent,  just  when  the  tonic  was  expected,  i.  e.,  expectation 
of  the  tonic  is  heightened  by  postponement.  But,  finally,  while  the 
dominant  seventh  chord  is  sustained  through  one  (the  accented)  beat, 
and  sometimes  more,  the  tonic  is  heard  at  the  beginning  of  the  beat, 
i.  e.,  on  the  rhythmic  accent,  in  sharp  dissonance  with  that  chord. 
With  the  habituated  the  sense  of  form,  that  according  to  melodic 
structure  the  cadence  is  due,  adds  enough  to  the  intensity  of  the  con- 
centrated expectation  to  make  the  tonic  a  grateful  relief  when  it  does 
come.  It  is  worth  noting  that  Beethoven  does  not  use  this  cadence 
in  the  great  sonatas  after  No.  19,  except  in  No.  28  and  30,  whereas 
before  No.  19  it  occurs  nearly  thirty  times.  It  is  also  quite  rare  in 
his  symphonies.  He  may  have  realized  instinctively  that  it  was 
possible  to  overdo  it  and  experimented  with  other  cadences,  of  which 
he  has  a  great  variety.*"  The  charm  of  this  one  as  it  appears  in  the 
Andante  of  the  Kreutzer  Sonata  for  violin  and  piano  cannot  be  gain- 
said. But  it  must  also  be  said  that  Beethoven  has  his  own  manner 
of  introducing  this  cadence  so  that  it  sounds  far  less  formal  than  in 
either  Haydn  or   Mozart. 

*End  of  first  aection  of  first  movement.^^ 

tEnd  of  Andante."* 

{End  of  theme  of  Andante,^'  also  end  of  last  Variation. 


Form  $1 


IV.     EXPECTATION  AS  IT  APPEARS  IN  FORM. 

1.  While  form  as  a  creative  aesthetic  principle  in  the  elaborate 
structure  of  a  composition  is  of  recent  development,  having  followed 
even  the  development  of  harmony  and  being  very  largely  dependent 
on  it,  it  has  a  life  of  its  own  in  dim  pasts  when  melody  was  struggling 
to  make  its  way. 

As  was  suggested  under  the  subject  of  repetition  above  (Intro. 
Ill,  2,  c),  there  seems  to  be  a  basic  impulse  born  with  a  melody  or 
melodic  sequence  to  repeat  it.  Many  a  bird  has  its  particular  little 
phrase  of  a  few  tones  and  sits  by  the  hour  repeating  the  same  catch 
on  the  same  pitch.  Man  even  as  primitive  learned  early  the  delight 
of  varying  a  sequence,  but  having  invented  a  new  pattern  of  rhythm 
and  intervals  he  also  enjoyed  hearing  himself  repeat  the  new  pattern, 
and  others  enjoyed  listening  to  him.  Being  accompanied  frequently — 
if  not  invariably — by  dancing,  the  time  of  phrases  came  to  be  determined 
by  the  rhythm  of  the  dance,  and  since  that  is  primarily  movement  by 
twos  (v.  I,  3  above)  the  repetition  of  phrases  fell  into  the  same  swing. 
Thus  the  melody  had  impressed  upon  it  a  rhythmic  pattern  of  the 
simplest  kind;  it  might  consist  of  a  single  phrase  of  two  or  three 
intervals  repeated  at  regular  intervals  twice,  or  of  two  phrases  that 
went  together  and  were  repeated  by  pairs.  In  this  primitive  stage 
the  expectation  roused  by  rudimentary  form — for  that  is  what  it  was 
all  unconsciously — merged  with  that  roused  by  the  rhythm  as  such. 
However  that  may  be,  this  arrangement  by  twos  is  basic  in  modern 
form,  even  though  it  has  been  elaborated  and  modified  in  a  great 
variety  of  ways.  In  very  many  cases  departures  are  more  apparent 
than  real  and  where  they  are  real  it  is  with  conscious  purpose  for 
definite  aesthetic  ends.  Even  the  five-beat  measure  in  Tschaikowski's 
Symphony  Patetica^^ — second  movement — starts  off  by  twos  and  fours, 
whatever  liberties  he  may  take  with  them  later.  And  when  we  look 
at  the  simpler  forms,  popular  or  classical,  of  the  age  of  Bach  and 
Haydn  or  of  the  twentieth  century,  we  find  the  phrases  recurring  in 
their  various  modified  repetitions  by  twos  and  fours.  It  would  be  an 
interesting  experiment  to  challenge  some  present-day  song  writer  of 
undoubted  popularity  to  put  one  of  his  most  captivating  creations  into 
an  irregular  form,  so  that  the  expected  accents  would  fail  and  turp 
up  a  measure  or  two  late,  the  whole  melody  including  a  number  of 
measures  not  divisible  by  four.  It  would  undoubtedly  pro^•e  a  failure 
because  of  the  persistent  failure  of  expectation.  Even  ragtime  with 
all  its  atrocities  sticks  religiously  to  the  two-four  scheme;  though 
whether  "jazz"  pretends  to  or  knows  what  it  does  or  claims  is  much 
to  be  doubted. 

The  Greeks  gave  some  little  impulse  to  the  development  of  form 
by  the  use  of  melodic  intoning  in  reciting  their  poetry.  The  length 
of  the  phrase  was  accomodated  to  the  length  of  the  verse  and  so 
phrases  of  equal  length  prevailed.  Something  of  the  same  custom 
prevailed  in  the  services  of  the  medieval  church,  where  also  the  Greek 
modes  continued  to  hold  their  place.  But  one  of  the  freest  turns  in 
the  development  of  form  was  in  the  phrases  of  melody  with  words 
with  which  laborers  in  all  countries  have  accompanied  their  work. 
For  convenience  in  concerted  action  as  well  as  for  the  sense  of  ex- 
hilaration the  operations  were  rhythmically  arranged  and  the  song  was 
fitted  in  antiphonally,  so  that  phrases  of  equal  length  were  joined  in 
twos.     This  simplest  form  appears  quite  clearly  in  some  of  the  early 


^2 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music      

secular  songs,  contemporary  with  the  use  of  fifths  in  harmony  by 
the  church,  but  themselves  all  innocent  of  any  such  seemingly  foreign 
element.  But  it  needed  freer  use  of  harmony,  and  principally  the 
emergence  of  tonality,  to  give  the  needed  impulse  to  the  modern  develop- 
ment of  form.  And  it  was  the  simple  song  as  used  in  various  national 
dances  that  became  the  pattern  for  the  simple  instrumental  composi- 
tions  and   have   even   left    their   imprint   in    the   name    "Song   Form." 

2.  In  the  few  varieties  of  Song  Form  that  have  been  developed 
one  thing  is  common  and  fundamental,  i.  e.,  repetition  of  melodic 
material  after  intervals  or  even  immediately.  The  repetition  dots 
invariably  found  in  the  minuets,  waltzes,  gavottes,  marches,  polonaises, 
gigues,  bourrees,  and  the  rest,  were  neither  accidental  nor  arbitrary; 
they  were  merely  adopted  by  the  composers  from  the  songs  they  heard. 
As  a  certain  figure  of  a  dance  was  repeated,  the  melody  that  accom- 
panied it  the  first  time  was  also  repeated.  If  the  dance  was  elaborate 
enough  to  have  an  episode  of  a  different  figure,  this  latter  lasted 
the  same  number  of  steps  and  had  its  different  melodic  phrases;  but 
it  was  confidently  expected  that  the  first  figure  would  then  be  repeated 
and  with  it  the  music  as  before.  When  a  composer  adapted  some  such 
popular  air  for  performance  on  an  instrument,  the  repetitions  were  in- 
cluded as  a  matter  of  course.  And  he  followed  the  same  pattern 
if  he  invented  a  melody  that  might  accompany  a  minuet  or  bourree, 
and  gave  it  the  name  as  well  as  pattern  of  the  dance. 

Now  in  the  case  of  simple  repetition  of  the  intervals  and  phrases 
of  a  melody,  expectation  would  be  more  or  less  alert  and  anticipate 
them  from  point  to  point.  In  similar  cases  even  at  the  present  day 
people  can  be  seen  tapping  with  the  foot  or  beating  out  time  with 
finger  or  head,  and  even  fuller  breathing  ensues  at  the  same  turn 
in  the  melody.  The  expectation  is  that  no  alteration  in  intervals  or 
rhyt^im  shall  interfere  with  the  satisfaction  of  exact  repetition. 

3.  In  case  there  is  to  be  an  episode  with  different  melodic  material, 
this  will  be  followed  with  the  general  expectation  noted  for  all  melodies 
and  interest  for  its  new  phrases.  But  after  it  has  come  to  its  cadence 
and  has  been  repeated  with  much  more  alert  expectation,  then  the 
return  of  the  original  melody  is  looked  for  confidently;  and  here  as 
above  (2)  exactness  in  all  details  from  initial  tone  to  cadence  is  fully 
expected.  Even  if  a  minuet  had  a  sort  of  pause,  with  or  without 
special  dance  figures  to  fill  it  in,  at  the  close  of  the  music  (called 
a  Trio  and  usually  in  a  quieting,  sobering  tonality,  4  of  the  original 
tonality),  the  entire  figure  of  the  dance  with  all  its  music  would  be 
repeated  as  before,  and  each  separate  section  of  it  as  well  as  the  de- 
tails of  phrase  and  interval  give  rise  to  appropriate  expectation  as 
before.  Many  composes  have  enlarged  on  this  pattern  in  a  great 
variety  of  ways  from  the  simple  adding  of  a  coda  that  seems  to  suggest 
appropriate  meditation  after  the  dance,  to  such  elaborate  variations 
as  Raff  gives  in  his  "Rigaudon"  from  the  Suite  in  Bb  Op.  204.  Bee- 
thoven's great  Scherzos  are  founded  on  the  same  scheme. 

4.  The  so-called  Variation  form,  once  exceedingly  popular  and 
not  wholly  obsolete  yet  (witness  Elgar's  "Enigma"  variations,  and 
d'Inty's  "Istar"  variations),  grew  out  of  a  desire  of  composers  to  invest 
such  repetitions  as  have  been  indicated  with  some  fresh  interest, 
to  escape  the  monotony  of  sameness.  Doubtless  singers  of  the  dance 
tunes  were  wont  to  amuse  themselves  and  the  listeners  with  occasional 
departures  from  the  set  pattern.  It  was  material  ready  furnished  for 
the  composer  when  he  used  one  of  the  common  dance  tunes  for  a  set 
of  variations.  Moreover,  a  set  pattern  like  this,  not  too  elaborate 
and  easily  followed,  was  a  distinct  advantage  in  the  working  out  of 
variations.  The  composer  had  the  double  duty  of  arresting  attention 
and    creating    interest    by    the   freshness    of    his    improvements — or    at 


Form 53 

least  changes — of  the  familiar  melody  and  at  the  same  time  not  tax 
their  attention  too  severely  by  complexity  of  form.  So  it  has  remained 
the  rule  for  good  psychological  reasons  to  start  out  with  a  simple 
pattern  for  theme,  simple  too  in  rhythm,  melody  and  harmony,  no 
matter  how  elaborately  they  enlarged  upon  it  and  even  stretched  it 
to  almost  unrecognizable  dimensions.  Moreover  the  variations  begin 
with  one  that  makes  comparatively  slight  demands  on  the  attention 
as  if  the  composer  wished  to  lead  the  hearer  by  gradual  steps  to  the 
more  intricate  modifications  of  the  theme,  so  that  he  would  not  then 
be  bewildered  as  if  wandering  in  a  labyrinth  but  could  still  follow 
the  general  clue  furnished  by  the  original  pattern,  which  underlies 
even  the  most  complex  variation.  The  hearer  is  further  aided  by 
the  composer  in  that  the  several  parts  of  a  variation  are  repeated 
just  as  those  of  the  theme  were,  and  this  permits  of  better  grasping 
and  following  the  intent  of  the  variation  the  second  time,  its  relation 
to  the  original. 

But  what  we  have  in  the  variation  is  not  what  was  spoken  of 
above  as  thematic  development,  though  some  of  the  earlier  samples 
are  not  much  more.  It  is  a  deliberate  effort  to  present  several  elements 
presented  by  the  theme,  chords,  melodic  and  harmonic  sequences  and 
phrases,  in  such  new  and  strange  guises  as  to  both  satisfy  and  baffle 
expectation.  A  melodic  phrase  is  put  into  a  lower  voice,  which  gives 
it  a  new  aspect;  or  successive  phrases  are  presented  in  different  octaves. 
A  chord  is  replaced  by  a  figure  in  which  the  several  constituent  tones 
are  given  consecutively  and  the  ear  has  to  reconstruct  the  chord  effect 
in  imagination.  Or  whereas  the  melody  in  the  theme  followed  the 
rhythmic  accents  closely,  a  variation  will  let  the  tones  come  lagging 
in  half  a  beat  late,  to  which  expectation  has  to  adapt  itself.  Or  the 
few  tones  of  a  melody  may  be  multiplied  by  two  or  three  or  four  and 
the  pattern  filled  out  while  the  accented  tones  of  the  varied  melody 
are  strongly  reminiscent  of  the  original.  This  is  what  Beethoven 
does  for  the  opening  theme  of  the  Andante  of  his  Fifth  Symphony.** 
Or  a  very  simple  chord  motive  or  pattern  is  made  the  basis  of  wholly 
new  thematic  material  more  or  less  elaborate,  and  here  expectation  is 
centered  on  the  chords  of  the  pattern  as  they  are  presented  under  new 
conditions  and  often  in  new  guise.  The  same  composer  does  this  for 
the  slow  movement  of  his  Sonata  Op.  57*'  (Appassionata).  In  his 
"Thirty- three  Variations"  on  a  Waltz  by  Diabelli,  he  practically  invents 
new  thematic  material,  often  only  remotely  suggested  by  the  simple 
self-satisfied  theme,  for  each  successive  variation,  merely  keeping  some 
faint  semblance  of  the  original  structure  as  a  background.  This 
pattern  keeps  itself  before  us  also  in  the  almost  unfailing  repetitions 
of  the  variations,  only  a  few  being  more  free  in  deviating  from  the 
pattern.  Some  of  these,  especially  the  grand  fugue  with  double 
subject  (No.  32)  and  those  that  call  for  some  special  virtuosity  in 
rendering,  demand  careful  study  to  reveal  the  substantial  conformity 
of    structure    with    the    theme. 

When  a  set  of  variations  is  in  a  major  tonality  one  of  the  set, 
at  least,  is  apt  to  be  in  minor,  usually  with  the  same  tone  serving  as 
minor  tonic.  If,  however,  the  theme  is  announced  in  minor,  then  one 
variation  at  least  is  apt  to  be  in  major  with  the  same  tonic,  and  it  may 
have  a  finale  in  major  as  well.  Scharwenka  (X.)  has  a  theme  and 
variations  in  D  minor;  two  of  the  latter  are  in  D  major,'*  and  the 
finale  has  the  same  key.  In  both  of  these  cases  expectation  has  the 
same  problem  to  deal  with,  and  the  new  meaning  intervals  acquire  with 
the  different  harmonic  support  is  a  constant  source  of  surprise  and 
interest. 

One  special  bearing  of  the  whole  matter  of  form  in  music  on 
expectation  may  be  mentioned  here,  as  it  appears  very  clearly  in   the 


54 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

simpler  variations.  The  expectation  that  centers  on  the  cadence,  as 
we  have  seen  above  (III,  4),  is  confirmed  still  further  and  made  more 
definite  by  the  expectation  that  grows  out  of  the  consciousness  of  the 
form.  A  cadence  is  fully  expected,  of  course,  for  any  and  everj'^ 
species  of  musical  composition,  and  its  approach  can  be  often  forecasted 
some  time  in  advance,  especially  by  one  trained  in  the  technique  of 
composing.  But  with  the  more  complicated  forms  there  is  no  certainty 
in  advance  as  to  the  length  of  a  work  and  the  listener  must  wait 
for  such  indications  as  the  unfolding  structure  of  the  work  affords. 
But  in  the  simpler  variations,  at  least,  and  often  in  the  more  elaborate, 
the  song-form  with  its  definite  length  and  its  repetitions  is  the  basis 
of  all.  The  very  place  where  the  cadence  must  appear  is  assigned  by 
expectition  in  advance,  and  any  evasion  of  it  or,  worse  still,  omission  of 
it  entirely,  would  pass  beyond  the  line  of  pleasant  surprise  or  shock. 
The  only  possibility  would  be  one  like  that  already  mentioned  above 
(III,  4),  that  the  chord  expected  as  final  in  the  cadence  of  one  varia- 
tion becomes  the  opening  chord  of  the  next,  so  that  one  merges  with- 
out complete  cadence  into  the  other;  even  this  is  very  rare.  But  in 
compositions  that  are  professedly  in  the  song-form,  such  as  simple 
minuets,  waltzes  and  the  like,  the  place  of  the  cadence  is  definitely 
assigned  by  expectation  and  an  evasion  or  omission  amounts  to  repudia- 
tion of  the  form.  A  composer  who  undertakes  to  lift  a  waltz,  gavotte 
or  other  dance  of  the  song  form  type,  into  an  elaborate  work  of  art, 
is  not  bound  by  the  same  narrow  limits,  but  frequently  his  work  is 
nothing  more  than  a  multiplication  of  units  of  the  same  type  and 
permits  of  a  good  deal  of  the  same  forecast.  The  Strauss  waltzes 
and  some  of  Chopin's  (C#  Minor)  are  of  this  type. 

5.  The  special  manner  of  announcement  of  a  melodic  subject, 
the  figuration  that  appears  at  the  beginning  of  a  composition,  or  even 
any  striking  harmonic  sequence,  set  definite  expectation  in  motion 
that  does  not  cease  until  the  close  of  the  work.  Many  of  Bach's 
Preludes  in  the  Well-Tempered  Clavichord  (notably  No.  1  in  C*^) , 
Preludes  and  Etudes  of  Chopin,  Schumann's  great  Fantasie  in  C*^ 
in  the  first  and  third  movements,  some  of  Brahms'  shorter  piano 
compositions,  and  the  scale  subject  in  the  Scherzo  of  Schumann's 
piano  Quintet,^^  may  serve  as  samples  of  what  is  meant.  The  figure 
that  ushers  in  the  work,  the  peculiar  pattern  of  the  subject,  creates 
a  sort  of  atmosphere  that  pervades  it  and  is  definitely  felt  throughout. 
It  may  not  be  incessantly  repeated,  though  it  often  is;  but  the  hearer 
confidently  looks  for  its  return  and  greets  it  with  satisfaction.  Every 
deviation  from  the  pattern  can  be  readily  noted,  whether  it  be  trans- 
posing to  a  different  part  of  the  scale  or  even  into  a  different  tonalit3% 
or  inverting  the  intervals  from  ascending  to  descending  or  vice  versa, 
or  changing  time  relations  enough  to  make  the  progress  of  the  move- 
ment interesting  without  making  the  figure  unrecognizable.  This 
does  not  allow  of  any  such  freedom  as  was  noted  in  the  variation 
form;  we  are  dealing  not  with  a  series  of  phrases  woven  into  a  complete 
melody  and  eventually  constituting  a  finished  composition,  but  with 
independent  units  that  are  identical  (or  nearly  so)  and  by  their  success- 
ion make  the  character  of  the  piece,  something  like  the  repeated 
figures  in  an  ornamental  design.  Standing  out  against  this  as  a  back- 
ground may  appear  a  melody,  either  composed  of  successive  accented 
tones  of  the  figures  or  carried  independently.  Then  the  expectation 
roused  by  this  melodic  succession  joins  with  that  centered  on  the 
figuration;  and  here  attention  may  be  divided  or  may  be  voluntarily 
fixed  on  the  melody  alone,  leaving  the  figured  accompaniment  to 
provide  its  under-current.  The  spinning  songs  of  Mendelssohn,  Raflf 
and  others  furnish  examples  of  such  treatment,  also  some  cradle  songs. 
The  XQonotojjy   of   exact   repetition,    completely   satisfying   expectation 


Form 55 

to  the  end,  may  be  just  the  effect  aimed  at  by  the  composer,  or  it 
may  suit  his  purpose  better  to  surprise  and  interest  in  ways  suggested 
above.  In  the  latter  case  the  psychological  limit  of  variety  he  sets 
for  himself  is  fair  recognizability  of  the  figure. 

6.  The  song-form  and  its  e.xtension  in  variations  presents  to  the 
composer  a  rather  limited  field  of  operations  and  the  effects  he  pre- 
pares and  works  are  necessarily  on  a  limited  scale.  It  is  in  the  larger 
and  more  complicated  forms  that  he  has  an  opportunity  to  build 
up  to  climaxes  of  expectation,  and  by  satisfying  it  duly  or  by  well- 
managed  surprises  to  add  to  the  intensity  of  enjoyment.  To  see 
how  some  composers  have  achieved  this  end  we  may  proceed  to  some- 
thing of  an  analysis  of  the  three  forms  that  permit  of  elaboration  on 
the  largest  scale,  namely  the  fugue,  the  rondo,  and   the  sonata. 

(a)  The  Fugue.  This  is  a  special  case  of  imitation  with  more 
elaborate  treatment,  and  its  peculiar  character  may  be  best  discerned 
in  distinction  from  the  canon  to  which  it  is  most  closely  related. 
The  regular  canon  starts  out  with  an  announcement  of  a  subject  in 
one  voice  with  no  accompanying  harmony.  After  a  number  of  measures 
— or  it  may  be  in  the  very  first  measure — the  same  subject  is  announced 
again,  the  intervals  and  rhythmic  value  of  the  original  being  quite 
rigidly  followed.  The  composer  may,  at  his  option,  let  the  second 
announcement  begin  on  the  octave  of  the  first,  on  the  third  or  fifth, 
or  for  that  matter  any  tone  of  the  scale,  with  slight  modifications  of 
interval.  But  having  once  set  out  as  second  subject  it  is  supposed  to 
"follow  the  leader"  point  for  point  through  any  elaboration  or  modula- 
tion; and  the  two  voices  with  the  implications  of  their  intervals  furnish 
all  the  harmony.  It  is  supposed  to  terminate  just  as  many  beats 
behind  the  original  as  it  began,  though  for  the  sale  of  a  more  satisfy- 
ing cadence  in  unison  a  few  tones  may  be  added  to  the  original  or  cut 
off  from  the  follower.  During  the  course  of  such  a  composition  atten- 
tion shifts  from  one  voice  to  the  other  and  a  sequence  noted  rouses 
expectation  of  tones  to  follow  in  the  second  part.  In  the  original 
there  is  nothing  but  general  melodic  expectation,  but  the  sequences 
etc.  already  given  by  it  form  a  more  definite  basis  of  expectation  for 
the  second  voice.  Klengel  has  a  long  series  of  such  canons  in  which 
he  seems  to  be  making  a  deliberate  attempt  to  show  what  can  be  done 
in'  this  form,  different  ones  being  on  fifth  or  octave,  etc.  But  there 
is  not  enough  chance  for  variety  of  interest  to  compensate  for  the 
strain  of  attention  that  is  necessitated;  while  the  ear  is  busy  trs'ing 
to  follow  the  second  voice,  the  first  voice  starts  in  with  new  material 
which  in  turn  must  be  followed  in  the  second.  The  two-part  In- 
ventions of  Bach  follow  quite  closely  the  canon  form  and  are  not  long 
enough  to  weary  the  ear  and  mind  from  the  effort,  but  the  elaborate 
canons  above  referred  to  are  not  much  more  than  curiosities  of  music. 
The  fugue,  however,  especially  as  developed  by  Bach  in  his  great 
works  for  chorus,  organ  and  piano,  has  so  much  opportunity  for  creat- 
ing a  diversion  and  fresh  interest  that  despite  a  rather  severe  strain 
on  the  attention,  it  can  hold  its  own  as  enjoyable  music  and  on  oc- 
casion move  deeply.  One  voice  announces  the  subject  as  in  the  canon, 
but  whereas  that  form  introduced  the  response  on  any  chosen  tone  of 
the  scale,  the  fugue  is  limited  to  the  fifth — or  its  equivalent — so  that 
the  first  suggested  modulation  is  always  to  5.  Again  the  fugue  is 
freer  in  the  number  of  voices,  and  may  have  four  or  more;  some 
fugues  even  have  two  subjects  moving  along  side  by  side  without 
interfering  with  each  other,  each  with  is  complement  of  voices.  In  a 
strictly  handled  fugue  for  instrument  the  interplay  of  voices  (as  in  the 
canon)  furnishes  all  the  harmony;  in  the  choral  fugue  there  may  be 
an  instrumental  accompaniment  that  furnishes  a  harmonic  background 
for  the  •  voices  carrying  the  subjects  of  the  fugue.     The  general   plan 


The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


of   the   fugue   determines   the   point   at   which    the   second   voice  gives 
the    response    to    the    subject,    usually    waiting    for    the   first   voice    to 
announce  it  in  full.     If  there  are  more  than  two  voices  all  of  them 
must  be  allowed  to  announce  the  subject  in  full  successively,    a    third 
voice  on   the  octave  of  the  first  and  a   fourth  on  the  octave  of  the 
second;  and  until  all  have  had  their  say  there  is  no  tampering  with 
the  intervals  or  rh5rthmic  relations  of  the  subject  as  at  first  announced, 
though  the  accompanying  parts  (i.  e.,  the  first  voice  after  the  second 
begins  its  course,  or  first  and  second  after  the  third  qpters,  and  so  on) 
may  furnish  new  material  in  figures  or  phrases  that  become  available 
for  later  development.     Up  to  this  point  attention  and  expectation  are 
focused  on  the  successively  entering  voices  repeating  the  same  burden 
with  its  new  meaning  in  the  new  pitch;  not  wholly  oblivious  to  the 
material   introduced   by   the  other   parts,   which   has   a   familiar   sound 
when  it  is  utilized   in   subsequent   development.     After  all  the  voices 
have  stated  the  subject  there  follows  a  passage  of  more  or  less  freedom 
in  which  isolated  phrases  or  figures  of  the  subject  may  appear,  with 
some  admixture  of  the  new  material,  before  the  entire  subject  is  heard 
again.     Here  the  composer  has  practically  the  whole  range  of  tonalities 
to   choose   from,    the   only   desideratum   being   satisfactory   preparation 
for  the  new  tonality.     A  very  common  change  is  from  major  to  minor 
or    vice  versa,  with  the  fresh  light  that  throws  on  the  subject.     But  here 
again  a  full  announcement  is  likely  to  be  followed  by  response  on  the 
fifth  as  at  first,   and   the   full   complement  of   voices  may  take  a  turn 
again.     Or  one  voice  may  play  around  the  subject,  taking  characteristic 
phrases  of  it  in  different  parts  of  the  scale,  while  another  voice  gives 
appropriate  accompaniment.     Or  while  one  voice  is  repeating  the  sub- 
ject  in    its   original   form   another   may   give   it   out   in   diminution   or 
augmentation,   or  two  voices  may  join   in   such  modification.     Or  the 
series  of   voices   may  begin   giving   the   subject   in    inversion.     Usually 
there  is  full  announcement  as  at  first  toward  the  end,  sometimes  with 
a  stretto,  i.  e.,  one  voice  hastening  on  the  heels  of  the  next  (without 
waiting  the  usual  time),  so  that  in  a  couple  of  measures  or  less  the 
full  quota  of  voices  is  piled  up.     A  more  or  less  elaborately  prepared 
cadence  brings  the  fugue  to  a  close. 

This  is  by  no  means  intended  to  be  a  complete  analysis  of  the 
possibilities  involved  in  the  rather  intricate  form  of  the  fugue.  There 
are  often  rather  long  episodes  in  which  only  a  part  of  the  voices  are 
employed,  a  sort  of  dialogue,  while  others  are  in  abeyance.  But  nothing 
is  possible  that  rises  above  the  mere  sensuous  pleasure  in  the  melodies 
and  harmonies  the  composer  happens  to  introduce,  no  appreciation 
of  its  artistic  and  aesthetic  value,  unless  expectation  is  wide  awake 
and  operative  throughout.  And  in  general  it  may  be  said  that  the 
aesthetic  pleasure  is  directly  proportionate  to  the  alertness  of  expectation. 
Melodic  expectation  in  nearly  every  possible  form  is  represented  in 
the  announcement  of  the  subject,  and  this  becomes  more  definite 
still  in  the  responses  of  the  other  voices.  Up  to  this  point,  until  all 
the  voices  have  been  heard,  expectation  is  fully  met,  with  corresponding 
pleasure.  But  in  case  of  three  or  more  parts  more  or  less  definite 
harmonic  relations  have  already  been  established  and  expectation  along 
that  line  joins  forces  with  the  other  lines  already  in  operation.  Thus 
at  the  close  of  the  first  reponse  there  is  the  suggested  modulation  to  5, 
a  sort  of  provisional  cadence;  this  of  itself  begets  expectation  of  return 
to  tonic,  which  is  duly  met.  In  a  two-voiced  fugue,  such  as  that  in 
E  rninor  of  Bach,  the  harmonic  relations  are  largely  suggested  by 
the  intervals,  a  method  in  which  he  surpasses  any  other  composer; 
"but  the  sequences  and  modulations  are  clearly  indicated,  in  some  cases 
quite  in  accordance  with  expectation  (in  that  fugue),  in  others  with 
varying   degrees   of    surprise.     With    three    voices   the    triad    relations 


Form 57 

are  clearly  established  as  soon  as  the  third  voice  enters  and  the  com- 
poser has  the  harmonic  expectations  indicated  above  (III,  3.  and  6). 
It  is  possible  at  various  points  in  the  development  of  the  voices  and 
accompanying  parts  to  heighten  expectation  and  either  give  the  in- 
creased pleasure  that  comes  from  its  being  exactly  met,  or  the  new 
int'^rest,  or  even  shock  of  a  genuine  surprise.  For  instance  the  main 
subject  may  be  started  up  and  at  once  expectation  anticipates  the 
entire  subject,  as  at  first,  to  be  followed  by  response  on  the  fifth; 
having  roused  expectation  to  a  high  pitch  the  composer  suddenly 
breaks  off  half  way  through  the  subject  and  begins  over  again,  repeat- 
ing a  few  phrases  or  figures  of  the  subject  several  times,  with  the  same 
phrases  following  along  a  few  beats  behind  in  another  part,  or  with 
material  taken  from  some  of  the  earlier  accompanying  parts  used  as 
a  foil.  These  phrases  may  be  presented  in  several  different  tonalities, 
which  affords  other  opportunities  for  surprise  of  varying  degrees. 
Then  again,  the  entire  series  of  voices  may  enter  in  succession  as  at 
first,  only  in  a  new  series  of  tonalities,  adding  new  interest  to  each 
while  expectation  is  fully  met  from  one  voice  to  the  next.  In  one 
case,  at  least,  the  Bb  fugue  of  Book  I,  Bach  gives  a  response  toward 
the  end  on  the  fourth,  giving  a  sobered  touch  to  the  subject  and 
permitting  a  preparation  of  the  cadence.  But,  however  fertile  and 
ingenious  Bach  is  in  creating  interest  in  his  numerous  fugues — and 
no  other  writer  in  this  form  can  compare  with  him  either  for  those 
qualities  or  for  his  logical  consistency  in  working  them  out — there 
is  one  kind  of  surprise  or  shock  which  he  studiously  avoids,  evidently 
regarding  it  as  equivalent  to  a  confession  of  weakness  or  defeat: 
namely,  he  never  introduces  (so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  examine 
his  works)  any  additional  part  or  parts  for  the  sake  of  filling  out 
harmony.  In  the  instance  above  cited  of  a  fugue  in  two  voices  the 
cadence  is  made  to  indicate  harmony  by  the  rapid  succession  of  tones 
3-5-8;"    with  three  or  more  voices  the  device  is  unnecessary. 

The  fugue  is  really  a  triumph  of  constructive  genius,  combining 
as  it  does  the  polyphonic  treatment  of  voices  with  entire  freedom 
in  the  harmonic  sequences  and  modulations.  But  it  calls  both  for  a 
certain  type  of  gift  and  high  technical  achievement  to  keep  it  from 
getting  unwieldy  and  seeming  a  strain,  a  sort  of  tour  de  force.  Of 
composers  subsequent  to  Bach,  Mozart  has  some  examples  of  the 
form,  handled  with  great  skill  though  sometimes  with  more  freedom 
as  regards  material;  the  overture  to  the  opera  of  "Magic  Flute"  is 
a  brilliant  fugue.  Beethoven  has  som.e  rather  ponderous  efforts;  one 
double  fugue  in  his  great  "Missa  Solemnis"  in  D  with  two  subjects, 
another  with  two  subjects  is  No.  32  of  the  "Variations  on  Waltz" 
by  Diabelli,  one  with  one  subject  is  the  finale  to  the  great  Sonata 
Op.  106.  But  he  evidently  feels  the  limitations  of  the  form  as  a 
constraint  instead  of  an  opportunity;  to  Bach  it  was  as  much  a  native 
idiom  as  the  sonata  form  was  to  Beethoven.  It  is  to  be  doubted 
whether  Max  Reger  will  be  followed  by  many  in  his  great  exhibition 
of  contrapuntal  learning  given  in  the  closing  chorus  of  his  cantata, 
"The  Hundreth  Psalm",  also  a  fugue  with  a  double  subject,  to  the 
complicated  movements  of  which  the  chorus  of  brass  instruments 
proceeds  to  intone  Luther's  great  hymn  "Ein'  feste  Burg.  '  The  treat- 
ment of  the  voices  as  well  as  of  harmonic  sequences  and  modulations 
is  such  as  to  leave  expectation  practically  at  a  standstill;  and  not  only 
for  the  listener,  but  even  for  a  humble  participant  after  severe  re- 
hearsing. I  sang  in  it  in  Leipsig  and  speak  from  experience  when  I 
say  that  the  marvelous  fugue  choruses  of  Bach's  Mass  in  B  minor 
are  crystal  clear  when  compared  with  that  one  of  Max  Reger.  As 
hinted  above,  no  other  form  calls  for  such  close  attention  in  listening 
and   no  other  has  such   a   definite   intellectual   flavor  and   appeal. 


58 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

(b)  The  Rondo.  This  is  an  outgrowth  of  the  song-form  and 
calls  for  much  the  same  kind  of  repetition,  but  it  is  not  only  much 
more  elaborate  but  gives  larger  opportunities  for  originality  of  treat- 
ment. Indicating  the  several  sections  of  a  three-part  song -form  by 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  we  may  represent  it  by  the  formula  ABA, 
where  the  first  section  is  repeated  in  full  after  the  second.  If  a  second 
episode  of  the  same  length  is  added,  still  there  would  be  expectation 
of  the  return  of  the  first  and  the  resulting  formula  would  be  A  B  A  C  A. 
To  this  may  be  added  a  D,  which  again  would  be  followed  by  A. 
It  can  be  seen  readily  that  if  this  form  were  carried  out  rigidly  and 
expectation  were  fulfilled  to  the  end,  there  would  be  so  much  repetition 
of  complete  melodic  sections  as  to  result  in  loss  of  interest,  not  to  say 
monotony.  As  early  as  Haydn  accordingly  considerable  freedom  was 
allowed  in  the  treatment  of  the  returning  section  A,  even  to  repeating 
B  in  part  or  in  full  after  the  C  A  or  D  A.  It  was  quite  a  favorite 
form  for  composers  for  a  long  period,  partly  for  its  own  sake,  partly 
as  the  finale  of  the  sonata.  Haydn,  Mozart  and  Beethoven  all  have 
quite  a  number,  but  the  last  named  has  the  most  original  and  elaborate 
development  of  the  form,  particularly  in  sonata  Op.  31,  No.  3,  and  in 
Sonata  Op.  53.  I  shall  make  the  latter  the  basis  of  the  following 
analysis. 

This  rondo  has  seven  parts  and  may  be  represented  by  the  formula 
A  B  A  C  A  B  A.  The  second  A  repeats  the  first  without  the  change 
of  a  note,  meeting  expectation  at  every  point.  Both  B  and  C  furnish 
new  contrasting  material  both  of  melody  and  harmony,  and  before 
the  return  of  A  the  opening  phrase  of  it  is  introduced  suggestively 
as  a  transition  passage.  This  latter  phrase  is  expanded  to  some 
length  after  C  and  evidently  stands  as  a  substitute  for  the  first  half 
of  returning  A,  only  the  second  half  being  given  as  it  appeared  before. 
B  on  its  return  is  expanded  and  instead  of  containing  the  minor 
episode  it  had  before,  modulates  to  4  and  suggests  in  that  tonality 
the  final  return  of  A.  The  latter  is  then  expanded  to  more  than 
twice  its  former  length;  modulations  are  introduced,  the  rhythmic 
plan  is  changed,  and  the  theme  or  suggestions  of  it  are  given  out  in 
different  octaves,  all  of  which  leads  up  to  a  powerful  climax  and 
satisfying  cadence. 

From  the  plan  of  the  work  it  will  be  seen  the  composer  makes 
it  yield  abundant  opportunity  for  the  satisfying  of  ordinary  expectation, 
for  heightening  it  to  great  intensity,  and  for  striking  interest  from  sur- 
prise. Part  of  the  interest  comes  from  the  contrast  between  the 
theme  of  A  and  those  of  B  and  C  respectively.  The  former  has  as 
its  characteristic  opening  phrase  the  tone  5  unaccented  followed  by 
the  same  tone  repeated  on  the  accent;  the  melody,  after  this  strong 
announcement  of  the  strong  tone  drops  at  the  end  of  the  measure 
to  3,  from  which  it  passes  on  the  accent  to  2,  then  to  the  lower  5, 
and  returns  through  1  to  a  pause  on  3.^^ (a)  That  is,  it  deals  with 
one  exception  in  tonic  chord  intervals,  and  the  composer  indicates  a 
discordant  blend  for  his  harmony  by  keeping  the  pedal  down  and 
sustaining  both  tonic  and  dominant  harmonies  to  the  end  of  the 
phrase.  The  accompaniment  is,  however,  such  a  gentle  murmer  at 
first  that  the  discord  seems  not  to  intrude  itself.  In  sharp  contrast 
the  melodic  phrase  at  the  basis  of  B  is  just  hinted  at  by  the  higher 
tones  of  broken  chords  (given  in  triplets)  as  follows:  3-4-3-2-2#-3-2-l; 
i.  e.,  it  is  in  consecutive  steps  and  half  steps.  *^(b)  After  a  repetition 
(beginning  on  5)*''(b)  a  minor  episode  is  introduced,  at  the  close  of 
which  two  tones  on  5  of  the  minor  tonic  usher  in  the  melodic  phrase 
of  A  in  the  minor  *^(a)  rather  unexpected  but  very  convenient  as 
opening  for  a  modulation  back  to  the  original  tonality.  Here  ex- 
pectation is  fully  met  to  the  close  of  A,  and  the  nature  of  the  material 


Form  59 

used  allows  of  such  repetition  without  loss  of  interest.  C  begins  and 
develops  a  melodic  phrase  in  minor  in  which  consecutive  intervals 
are  promment."(c)  This  is  extended  to  about  the  length  of  B  and 
leads  to  a  complete  cadence  in  which  the  closing  minor  tonic  is  vigorous- 
ly asserted.  Suddenly  the  opening  phrase  of  A  is  sounded  fortissimo 
in  heavy  chords  in  the  tonality  of  6b, *'^*^  and  the  accented  tone 
5  is  raised  an  octave  above  the  unaccented,  with  bass  chord  leaping 
also  by  octaves.  This  is  a  complete  and  delightful  surprise  and  is 
well  worth  the  two-fold  repetition  accorded  it  in  the  triads  of  6  minor 
and  4  (related  to  the  6l>  above).  The  4  is  then  accepted  as  a  new 
tonality  and  a  long  series  of  broken  chords  is  started  flashing  up  and 
down,  through  all  tonalities  of  which  the  bass  part  keeps  sounding 
at  each  change  those  two  tones,  unaccented  followed  by  accented,"^'^ 
suggestive  of  the  opening  melodic  phrase  of  A.  This  is  by  way  of 
preparation  for  return  to  A,  to  the  tonality  of  which  we  are  led  after 
a  final  reminiscence  of  the  4  from  which  the  series  started.  This  is 
presented  at  first  under  the  guise  of  minor,  but  after  the  dominant 
seventh  chord  is  heard  distinctly  the  original  phrase  of  A  leaps  forth 
as  suddenly  as  above  but  fortissimo  and  at  a  later  phrase  of  A  instead 
of  pianissimo  in  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  beginning.  The  response 
in  the  dominant  brings  back  the  expected  pianissimo,  but  now  with 
an  entirely  new  effect  after  the  preceding  unexpected  fortissimo. 
Section  A  is  brought  to  a  close  just  as  at  first  and  is  followed  by  the 
first  part  of  B.  Instead  of  leading  as  before  into  an  episode  in  minor 
the  composer  builds  the  second  part  of  B  into  an  expansion  of  the 
broken  chords  of  part  one,  presenting  them  in  octaves  and  developing 
them  to  another  strong  climax  transposed  to  5.  Through  a  series  of 
heavy  chords  he  leads  again  to  the  dominant  seventh  chord  such  as 
preceded  the  return  of  A.  after  C;  and  A  does  actually  make  its  final 
entn,',  only  under  quite  a  new  guise.  The  murmuring  accompaniment 
which  before  included  the  four  tones  5-1-3-o''(^a)  jg  here  limited  to 
3-5,  and  the  melody  is  given  out  two  octaves  higher;  but  the  pedal  is 
sustained  through  the  change  of  chord  as  before.  But  the  impression 
of  a  sort  of  miniature  copy  of  A  is  confirmed  by  the  prestissimo  of 
the  tempo  as  well  as  by  the  changes  above  named.  The  m.elody  is 
altered  in  character  by  figuration  and  the  way  is  paved  for  a  repetition 
of  the  miniature  and  figuration  in  the  new  tonality  4.  Without  hold- 
ing this  long  the  characteristic  dominant  seventh  response  of  the  melody 
of  A  is  given  out  again  pianissimo  and  certain  intervals  of  it,  3-1-7-2,*'(a) 
are  used  for  a  descending  passage,  from  the  depths  of  which  come 
flashing  up  and  again  down  broken  chords  like  those  after  C  while  the 
two  characteristic  initial  tones  of  the  melody  A — accented  followed 
by  unaccented  on  same  pitch"  (a) — are  constantly  suggested  in  the 
bass.  These  lead  into  a  passage  of  descending  and  ascending  scales 
in  octaves  which  lead  up  to  that  insistent  dominant  seventh,  repeated 
several  times  during  a  sustained  trill  on  5.  The  murmur  begins  again 
in  broken  chords  and  while  the  trill  is  sustained  the  original  melody 
of  A  appears  in  the  upper  octave  in  a  kind  of  augmentation.  This 
rearrangement  is  carried  through  the  absolute  minor  to  6b,  from  that  as 
a  new  tonality  to  its  relative  minor  and  finally  to  the  original  key 
with  the  melody  of  A  with  full  chords.*' (*'•  From  this  point  to  the 
end  he  builds  up  an  elaborate  cadence  with  the  tones  of  that  melody 
and  their  figuration  as  before  employed,  ending  in  a  several  times 
repeated  tonic.  The  variety  shown  in  introducing  the  melody  of  A. 
the  figuration,  the  changes  in  the  quality  of  the  murmur,  the  heavy 
chords  with  their  modulation,  the  broken  chords,  all  these  are  of  the 
nature  of  surprise  with  which  again  expectation  blends  most  naturally 
and  easily.  The  Rondo  as  thus  developed  by  Beethoven  stands  a 
close  second   in   the   homophonic   type  to  the  fugue  of  Bach   in  poly- 


60 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

phonic  music  as  a  field  of  exercise  for  genius.  Each  has  its  limitations 
different  from  the  other;  each  has  its  special  opportunities;  it  takes 
a  master  to  make  the  best  use  of  both. 

(c)  Sonata.  The  sonata  form,  technically  speaking,  is  used 
only  in  the  first  mov^ements  usually  of  works  of  the  type.  Symphony, 
concerto,  quartet,  trio,  as  well  as  sonata  for  piano,  violin,  or  cello, 
have  a  first  movement  built  on  this  plan;  sometimes  more  than  one. 
The  idea  of  a  succession  of  movements  grew  out  of  the  so-called 
suite,  which  was  much  cultivated  in  the  XVIIIth  century,  and  which 
amounted  to  little  more  than  a  succession  of  dance  pieces  arranged 
in  a  great  variety  of  ways,  beginning  usually  with  a  free  prelude 
and  often  containing  an  air  not  tied  down  to  the  rigid  dance  form. 
Among  these  dances  were  often  some  of  a  three  part  song- form,  ABA, 
in  which  the  original  melody  or  theme  was  re-asserted,  often  quite 
strictly  following  the  first  statement.  As  skill  in  developing  a  subject 
was  acquired  by  composers,  and  still  more  as  freedom  and  the  use  of 
harmony  and  modulation  grew,  it  was  found  that  this  three  part 
song-form  had  great  latent  possibilities  of  expansion  and  expression. 
One  of  the  first  innovations  that  established  itself  was  the  introduction 
of  a  second  subject  in  A,  and  the  rule  was  to  put  it  into  the  tonality 
of  5  by  an  easy  modulation.  In  the  return  of  A  (after  B)  this  second 
subject  was  left  jfi  the  original  tonality;  and  A  having  led  the  first 
time  to  a  cadence  in  5  now  in  its  return  leads  easily  to  cadence  in 
original  tonality.  The  first  time  all  following  the  entrance  of  the 
second  subject  is  in  the  modulated  tonality  down  to  the  cadence; 
the  second  time  it  is  all  in  the  original.  Thus  if  the  sonata  began  in 
the  key  of  G,  the  second  subject  and  following  cadence  would  be  in 
the  key  of  D;  on  the  return  of  that  second  subject  it  would  be  in  the 
key  of  G  and  would  lead  to  cadence  in  that  key.  This  first  part, 
containing  two  subjects  and  cadence  in  5  was  as  religiously  repeated 
as  any  dance  form.  Then  follows  the  second  important  innovation, 
the  treatment  of  B.  A  had  besides  the  two  subjects  certain  other 
figures  or  scale  passages  to  make  transition  smooth  from  one  subject 
to  the  other;  and  B  was  made  a  sort  of  free  exercising  field  for  all 
of  the  material  already  presented  in  A.  Either  subject  and  any  of 
the  figures  or  scale  passages  were  presented  complete  or  :n  fragments, 
in  new  combinations  and  guises.  This  ended  in  a  dominant  seventh 
chord  prolonged,  after  which  the  first  subject  of  A  re-asserted  itself. 
The  principal  chance  for  free  modulation  was  in  this  middle  section, 
taking  the  place  of  B.  The  repeat  was  not  for  B  separately,  on 
account  of  that  dominant  seventh,  but  for  both  B  and  A. 

Rigid  as  this  simple  form  seems  to  us  after  the  freer  handling  of 
the  sonata  form  to  which  we  have  become  habituated,  it  will  be  seen 
that  it  is  a  great  advance  on  the  simple  ABA  song-form.  It  is 
capable  of  considerable  extension  and  something  approaching  architect- 
ure, while  the  chances  for  creating  heightened  expectation  and  fresh 
interest  are  far  greater.  One  disability  it  suffered  from  is  the  inevitable 
modulation  to  5  for  the  second  subject.  This  will  appear  from  the 
following  statistics  compiled  from  sonatas  for  piano  and  for  violin 
and  piano,  and  symphonies  and  concertos  of  Haydn,  Mozart  and 
Beethoven.  Two  hundred  and  twenty-five  compositions  were  examined; 
out  of  these  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  had  that  modulation  to  5 
clearly  marked.  Of  the  remaining  fifty  twenty-one  were  from  minor 
to  major  (in  some  cases  then  to  5),  which  hardly  count  as  exceptions; 
eleven  were  from  major  to  minor,  which  amount  to  an  evasion;  and 
the  balance  were  all  in  Beethoven's  later  sonatas,  including  four  modula- 
tions to  4,  one  to  31?,  one  to  4,  one  to  7,  two  to  6  and  one  to  61?. 
It  should  be  stated  that  not  all  the  movements  thus  inspected  were  in 
sonata  form;  the  list  includes  also  slow  movements,  minuets  and  scherzos 


Form bl 

with  their  trios,  and  the  rondo-form  finales  as  well.  The  probabilities 
are  that  a  full  examination  of  all  symphonies  and  chamber  music  of 
Haydn  and  Mozart  would  not  reveal  as  large  a  proportion  in  move- 
ments of  strict  sonata  form  where  any  other  modulation  was  used; 
minor  to  relative  or  absolute  major  not  counting.  As  noted  above 
Beethoven  broke  through  the  convention  in  a  number  of  his  greatest 
works  and  later  writers  have  added  still  more  to  its  flexibility  in  the 
matter  of  modulation. 

In  the  statement  above  it  was  not  meant  to  assert  that  Haydn 
and  Mozart  do  not  use  other  modulations;  in  the  freer  section  of  the 
sonata  known  as  development  they  resort  to  quite  a  variety  of  tonali- 
ties. But  in  the  first  section  preceding  the  repeat— when  it  is  sonata 
form — in  the  overwhelming  majority  of  works  the  first  modulation 
presented  is  that  to  5,  and  in  about  the  same  number  of  cases  the 
second  subject  and  cadence  are  given  in  that  tonality.  With  Beethoven 
the  majority  is  only  slightly  smaller,  i.  e.,  for  that  particular  point. 
Taking  these  facts  into  account  it  is  not  any  exaggeration  to  say  that 
the  expected  modulation  in  the  first  section  of  a  sonata-form  move- 
ment is  that  to  5,  and  that  the  aesthetic  effect  of  a  different  modula- 
tion is  based  largely  on  this  expectation.  It  is  not  always  presented 
at  or  even  ver>'  near  the  beginning  of  the  section,  though  Haydn 
seldom  does  anything  else.  Mozart  shows  more  ingenuity  in  his  way 
of  introducing  it,  seeming  at  first  to  lead  away  from  it  by  suggesting 
more  remote  modulations;  but  it  is  merely  a  postponement  with 
resulting  heightening  of  expectation  and  pleasure  of  satisfaction  when 
it  is  fulfilled.  Beethoven  shows  even  greater  ingenuity  and  boldness 
in  suggesting  remote  tonalities  suddenly,  as  in  the  opening  of  Op.  31, 
No.  2,  Op.  53,  and  Op.  57.  In  the  first  of  these  he  announces  his 
first  subject  in  the  dominant  chord,'"  but  after  the  response  that 
comes  to  a  quasi  cadence  in  the  same  chord  he  suddenly  announces 
it  again  in  7b,'°  7  having  just  appeared  in  the  previous  chord.  From 
that  rather  remote  tonality  he  leads  by  a  series  of  runs  suggested  by 
the  response  into  the  tonic  where  the  formal  announcement  is  repeated 
and  this  time  is  brought  quite  directly  into  the  dominant  minor.  In 
the  second  (Op.  53)  the  announcement  of  the  subject  seems  to  land 
us  in  the  dominant  at  once  for  a  response;  but  without  continuing 
in  that  tonality  he  suddenly  repeats  the  entire  announcement,  response 
and  modulation  included,  in  7b,  like  the  last  mentioned.  But  he  comes 
back  presently  to  the  announcement  in  a  higher  pitch,  and  this  time 
brings  us  by  easy  stages  to  the  tonality  in  which  the  second  subject 
is  to  be  presented,  which  is  not  5  in  this  case,  but  3. 

In  the  third  of  the  above  sonatas.  Op.  57,  after  stating  the  subject 
in  the  minor  tonic,  followed  by  response  in  dominant,  he  restates  both 
a  half-tone  higher  in  major,  2b."  By  an  equally  sudden  leap  he  comes 
back  from  the  dominant  of  that  response  to  the  former  tonality, 
and  then  proceeds  to  prepare  for  his  second  subject  which  is  introduced 
in  the  relative  major.  A  somewhat  similar  course  is  taken  in  his 
G  major  Concerto;  here  after  announcing  his  subject  in  the  tonic  and 
coming  to  a  pause  in  the  dominant  he  leaps  suddenly  into  the  tonality 
3'*  and  takes  up  passage  work  leading  to  the  second  subject,  this 
time  in  5.  The  charm  of  these  different  innovations — for  such  they 
are — lies,  to  a  large  extent,  in  their  departure  from,  the  expected 
modulation   to   5. 

But  there  is  another  point  in  which  expectation  has  grown  to 
rather  definite  shape  in  the  classic  sonata,  especially  as  treated  for 
the  pianoforte,  though  it  appears  also  in  chamber  music  and  somewhat 
in  symphonies.  It  is  the  nature  of  the  passage  work  which  furnishes 
the  transition  from  one  subject  to  another,  or  from  subject  to  cadence. 
Haydn   limits   himself   almost    exclusively    to    scale   phrases   andj-runs 


62 The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

and  they  are  used  so  persistently'  and  regularly  as  to  grow  monotonous; 
too  much  repetition  and  not  enough  of  fresh  interest  (for  us.)  Mozart 
is  much  more  fertile  in  invention  and  often  inserts  a  new  melody 
instead  of  a  scale;  or  he  has  runs  of  a  different  character  with  often 
a  fresh  tonality  suggested.  In  Beethoven's  earlier  sonatas  the  scales 
still  predominate,  but  in  later  ones  he  has  far  greater  variety  of  figura- 
tion, depending  on  that  rather  than  on  fresh  melodic  material.  More- 
over, he  connects  his  figuration  with  phrases  of  his  subjects,  thus 
exhibiting  these  in  new  lights  and  securing  greater  unity  of  impression, 
while  maintaining  wise  economy  of  melodic  material.  Schubert, 
though  usually  prodigal  with  his  melodies,  is  not  closely  logical  in  his 
structure,  and  scale  passages  are  used  almost  like  padding  in  some  of 
his  sonatas,  though  others  are  comparatively  free  of  them.  It  re- 
mained for  Schumann  to  compose  an  elaborate  sonata,  as  long  as  the 
longest  of  Beethoven  (Op.  106),  without  a  trace  of  a  scale  passage 
strictly  speaking  from  beginning  to  end,  that  in  F  sharp  minor  (Op. 
11.).  In  this  course  he  has  been  followed  by  others,  notably  Brahms 
in  the  F  minor,  Op.  7.  Such  an  innovation  is  especially  noticeable 
in  the  first  movement  as  transitions  are  more  in  demand  than  in 
minuets,  scherzos  or  rondo-form  finales.  In  order  to  point  out  the 
difference  more  clearly  in  works  of  different  type  it  will  be  helpful 
to  subject  two  first  movements  to  a  somewhat  closer  analysis;  choosing 
two  mentioned  above,  namely  the  Op.  53  of  Beethoven  and  the  Op.  11 
of    Schumann. 

As  already  stated  in  another  connection  Beethoven  announc- 
es his  subject  in  the  tonic,  then  at  once  repeats  it  a  whole  tone 
below  with  the  tonality  7b".  Out  of  this  he  leads  easily  through 
scale  passage  ending  in  a  long  descending  run  to  tonic,  suggested  in 
minor.  But  the  subject  is  resumed  an  octave  higher  (it  was  quite 
low  at  first)  and  in  figured  chords,  two  slight  surprises.  But  the 
repetition  is  more  of  a  surprise,  being  raised  a  whole  step  and  given 
in  minor,  and  the  provisional  modulation  leads  to  the  relative  minor 
of  the  original  tonality.  From  that  minor  we  pass  on  to  its  dominant, 
still  in  minor  through  scale  passages.  But  at  the  end  of  these  the 
change  to  major  is  made,  resulting  in  3  of  the  original  tonality.  In 
this  key  the  second  subject  is  announced,  a  simple  melodic  phrase 
3-2-1-7-6,  with  return  in  response  back  to  3,  all  with  heavy  chords.  Re- 
peated an  octave  lower  it  leads  to  a  complete  rising  cadence.  Then 
while  the  left  hand  repeats  the  entire  subject  the  right  gives  a  light 
variation  of  it  an  octave  higher.  After  the  cadence  some  of  the  chords 
used  in  the  subject  are  made  the  basis  of  prolonged  figuration  all  in 
the  same  key,  slightly  reminiscent  of  the  cadence;  these  lead  into 
scale  passage  work  which  in  turn  leads  into  a  provisional  cadence, 
still  in  the  same  key.  But  the  passages  following  that  .lead  into 
minor  and  thence  by  an  easy  transition  to  original  tonic,  from  which 
repeat  da  capo  is  natural.  The  second  section  (after  the  repeat) 
is  ushered  in  by  easy  modulation  to  4,  in  which  tonality  the  main 
subject  is  restated.  The  first  part  of  it,  rapidly  repeated  chords, 
is  then  dropped  out  of  sight  and  the  second  part  consisting  of  a  short 
melodic  phrase  (1-3-2-1)  is  then  elaborately  developed;  repeated  in 
upper  and  lower  octaves,  extended  by  adding  5-4  to  3-2-1,  and  the  two 
phrases  are  given  alternately,  all  this  in  nine  different  tonalities  in  rapid 
succession.  In  the  later  stage  of  this  the  left  hand  has  taken  up  the 
broken  chord  figure-  foreshadowed  in  tbe  first  section  and  this  is  now 
developed  in  both  hands  passing  through  a  series  of  modulations  each 
successive  one  with  an  added  fiat  until  an  enharmonic  change  results 
in  five  sharps,  B.  B.  minor  brings  us  through  G  back  to  the  tonic 
and  after  a  passage,  in  which  melodic  fragments  of  the  main  subject 
appear,  a  long  descending  scale  plunges  us  without  any  pause  into  the 


• PoRtJ 63 

rapidly  repeated  chords  of  that  subject.  Instead  of  proceeding  from 
this  point  to  the  second  subject  just  as  in  the  first  section,  he  lays  his 
lines  before  long  for  the  changed  tonality  of  the  second  subject  and 
then  from  this  vantage  ground  the  melody  with  full  chords  is  made 
to  seem  inevitable  in  the  subdominant  of  the  former  tonality.  The 
higher  pitch  as  well  as  the  new  key  relation  give  it  a  fresh  beauty, 
and  we  fully  expect  to  hear  it  repeated  an  octave  lower.  But  here 
Beethoven  gives  us  a  sudden  surprise  by  dropping  it  into  absolute 
minor,  and  then  consoles  us  by  giving  the  variations  and  left-hand 
melody  in  the  original  major  tonality  of  the  sonata.  From  this  point 
for  some  space  the  figured  chords  (following  the  cadence  of  this  melody) 
and  passage  work  resemble  very  closely  the  corresponding  part  of  the 
first  section.  But  another  surprise  awaits  us;  for  after  making  ready 
apparently  for  a  cadence  he  introduces  the  first  subject  half  a  tone 
higher  than  before  and  presently  it  is  heard  in  the  bass  against  the 
high  chords  of  the  right  hand.  This  is  the  opening  of  an  extended 
crescendo  with  the  main  subject  urgently  reiterated  in  left  hand  rising 
step  by  step,  while  the  right  hand  accompanies  it  with  ascending  and 
descending  scale  passages.  After  a  powerful  climax  the  passages 
bring  us  out  on  two  long-sustained  dominant  seventh  chords.  From 
them  flows  in  the  original  tonality  of  C  the  melody  of  the  second 
subject,  first  at  low  pitch,  then  an  octave  higher — reversing  the  order 
that  was  given  before  in  both  sections  and  so  surprising  us  with  charm- 
ing effect;  and  now  follows  the  twice  interrupted  cadence  already 
described  above  (III,  4  at  the  end.)  But  complete  as  this  is  the  third 
time,  it  is  too  quiet  for  a  work  of  such  impetuosity  and  dimensions. 
The  entrance  of  the  tonic  is  the  signal  for  a  brief  restatement  of  the 
main  subject  and  its  little  melodic  phrase,  then  after  a  converging 
scale  run  in  both  hands  there  follow  a  few  ponderous  chords  in  the 
sequence  sub-dominant,  dominant,  tonic,  dominant,  tonic;  this  last 
closes  the  movement.  It  is  evident  that  the  composer  has  in  reality 
comparatively  little  thematic  material:  the  main  subject  and  the  second 
subject  in  strong  contrast  with  each  other.  For  his  abundant  passage 
work  he  resorts  to  phrases  of  one  or  both  of  these  subjects  and  depends 
on  the  novel  setting  of  each  to  maintain  interest.  Expectation  is 
repeatedly  fulfilled  quite  exactly,  but  quite  as  often  foiled  with  great 
pleasure  of  surprise.  In  the  climax  described  there  is  a  piling  up  of 
expectation  from  point  to  point;  while  in  the  interrupted  cadence  it 
becomes  acute  in  a  different  way  after  waiting  twice  in  vain.  This 
study  shows  the  possibilities  of  a  close  and  logical  structure — architect- 
ture,  we  may  well  call  it — in  working  up  a  powert'ul  emotional  effect. 
It  is  one  of  the  noblest  truimphs  of  form  as  an  aesthetic  principle, 
making  available  for  high  and  pure  enjojTnent  material  that  in  an 
isolated  existence  or  rolled  together  carelessly  would  have  at  best 
but  a  mild  sensuous  pleasure  to  yield  us.  The  careful  elaboration  of 
inconsiderable  material  into  a  work  of  art  that  gives  everj-where  the 
impression  of  abundance  is  an  achievement  for  the  few.  A  comparison 
of  this  sonata  with  the  Op.  11  of  Schumann  shows  marked  contrasts 
in  method  and  type  of  workmanship.  Not  that  Schumann  is  careless 
or  indifferent  about  form;  for  there  is  closer  unity  of  structure  in  this 
sonata  than  it  usually  has  credit  for.  One  striking  difference,  is  that  he 
announces  at  the  outset  two  strongly  contrasted  subjects  which  he 
proceeds  to  play  off  against  each  other  through  the  large  part  of  the 
movement.  But  not  satisfied  with  these,  he  introduces  two  other 
important  subjects,  while  yet  a  third  is  of  some  weight  in  the  total 
structure.  Another  difference  is  the  total  absence  of  scale  passages, 
their  place  being  taken  by  material  furnished  in  the  main  from  the 
various  subjects.  Yet  another  difference  is  in  the  attitude  toward 
modulation,  as  if  it  were  a  more  fluent  and  native  vehicle  of  expression. 


64        The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

Moreover  Schumann  handles  chords  more  massively,  thickly  sometimes, 
than  Beethoven;  while  he  is  even  more  repetitious  in  one  particular 
way,  in  that  having  presented  a  beautiful  phrase  he  repeats  it  notatim. 
This  last  he  avoids,  however,  in  great  climaxes  as  carefully  as  does 
his  predecessor.  His  manner  of  treating  his  material  in  this  particular 
sonata  is  due  no  doubt  in  part  to  his  effort  to  suggest  two  comple- 
mentary personalities,  Florestan  and  Eusebius. 

He  chose  the  key  of  F  sharp  minor  and  begins  by  announcing  his 
first  subject,  which  we  shall  call  here  I,  in  the  dominant.  This  is  not 
so  capricious  as  it  sounds,  for  a  long  introduction  has  preceded  the 
main  movement  with  a  sort  of  suspended  cadence  in  F  sharp  minor, 
from  which  that  dominant  comes  more  naturally.  The  second  subject, 
which  we  shall  distinguish  as  II,  is  given  immediately  in  the  tonic, 
but  the  responses  in  the  bass  lead  into  several  modulations  before 
the  tonic  is  reached  again;  the  last  modulation  is  to  the  dominant,  and 
at  once  both  hands  in  octaves  re-assert  the  first  subject  I.  The  entire 
passage  beginning  with  the  subject  II  with  its  responses  and  modulations 
IS  repeated,  with  slight  changes,  up  to  and  including  the  octave  re- 
assertion  of  I.  The  two  subjects  are  given  together  once  in  the  tonic 
and  soon  we  hear  the  first  announcement  of  III;  this  leads  up  to  a 
pause  that  leads  us  to  expect  the  dominant  as  new  tonic;  but  the 
tonality  is  evaded  and  subject  IV  is  announced  in  a  tonality  a  half- 
tone lower.  The  kind  of  broken  chord  figuration  used  for  this  serves 
almost  as  a  disguise  and  the  real  character  of  the  phrase  is  discerned 
only  by  careful  attention  to  the  accents  indicated  by  the  composer. 
It  amounts  to  the  following  melodic  sequence  in  minor:  8-7-11-10, 
and  after  being  exacty  repeated  descends  by  the  steps  8-7b-6b-5  and 
comes  to  a  pause  with  3-2-4-3;  the  tones  in  all  these  being  virtually 
of  the  same  length  throughout.  It  may  as  well  be  mentioned  here 
that  the  entire  sonata  receives  an  impression  of  a  large  unity,  of 
being  rounded  off  to  a  completeness,  from  the  fact  that  this  subject  IV 
is  introduced  in  the  closing  passage  of  the  last  movement  and  made 
the  starting  point,  in  major  this  time,  of  a  powerful  climax.  It  is  so 
prominent  in  the  first  movement  in  minor  that  its  return  with  more 
easily  recognizable  figuration  and  in  major  is  particularly  pleasing. 
The  tonality  of  IV  is  Eb  minor  which  is  virtual  relative  minor  to  the 
major  of  the  original  tonality  of  the  work,  a  major  that  seems  several 
times  on  the  point  of  emerging  and  in  fact  does  emerge  in  the  second 
section  of  this  movement.  In  that  key  of  Eb  minor  subject  II  returns 
by  itself,  passes  by  whole  steps  to  G#  minor  and  B  minor  and  by  an 
easy  transition  we  are  brought  to  what  from  one  point  of  view  is 
subject  V  in  A  major,  relative  to  the  original  ¥^  minor.  When  closely 
examined,  however,  it  turns  out  to  be  identical  with  the  descending 
phrase  of  IV,  only  in  major:  8-7-6-5  in  tones  of  equal  length.  The 
entire  passage  from  this  point  to  the  close  of  the  first  section  is  built 
on  that  sequence,  which  is  repeated  at  different  parts  of  the  scale, 
in  inversions,  and  appears  ascending  twice  in  succession  thus  giving 
the  only  semblance  of  a  scale  in  the  entire  section.  Here  Schumann 
uses  a  device  that  is  found  often  in  his  works,  but  hardly  ever  in 
Beethoven;  he  reinforces  the  melody  of  this  last  subject  by  giving  it 
in  three  places  at  once  an  octave  apart,  the  right  hand  giving  it  in 
octaves  and  the  left  supporting  it  an  octave  lower;  and  this  entire 
apparent  scale  passage  is  repeated  in  full,  like  so  many  in  the  whole 
sonata.  A  complete  cadence  follows  in  A  major  after  a  series  of 
descending  chords,  with  a  reminiscence  of  subject  I  in  the  low  bass; 
the  melody  tone  of  the  cadence  is  3,  instead  of  1.  In  the  develop- 
ment section  now  taken  up,  the  four  subjects  of  the  first  section  furnish 
all  the  material.  After  a  brief  reminder  of  subject  II  in  the  original 
minor    an    easy    modulation    restores    the    A    major    of    the    preceding 


Form 65 

cadence  and  subject  III  is  restated  in  that  key,  leading  to  a  fascinating 
conclusion  with  leaps  of  chords.  This  is  repeated  in  the  key  of  D 
(one  sharp  less).  The  same  sequence  serves  for  an  original  restatement 
of  subject  I;  while  the  right  hand  is  playing  a  broken  chord  accompani- 
ment the  left  plays  I  alternately  above  in  high  treble  and  then  two 
octaves  below  m  A  major  and  again  in  D  major.  This  is  one  of  the 
freshest  surprises  in  the  entire  work.  Then  follows  in  the  last  mentioned 
key  and  half  hidden  in  the  middle  voice  the  descending  scale  phrase 
of  subject  IV;  it  is  repeated  twice,  each  time  a  whole  tone  higher  and 
in  minor,  then  the  entire  subject  IV  is  restated  in  full  as  in  the  first 
section  but  in  the  key  of  C  sharp  minor.  In  this  last  key  subject  II 
is  restated  in  full  very  much  in  the  same  way  it  was  at  the  beginning 
of  the  first  section  in  P  sharp  minor,  and  in  the  process  the  F  sharp 
major  glimmers  through.  Subject  II  starts  out  again  in  the  same  key 
(C  sharp  minor)  but  by  a  series  of  surprising  modulations  works 
up  to  another  powerful  climax.  It  passes  through  E  fiat  minor, 
F  minor,  G  minor,  B  flat  major,  B  flat  minor,  ancf  ends  at  F  minor) 
during  all  which  subject  II  is  relegated  to  the  left  hand  and  the  lowest 
part.  The  dominant  chord  in  the  closing  key  of  this  series  has  just 
sounded,  leading  us  to  expect  resumption  in  the  tonic,  but  the  surprise 
awaiting  us  is  entire  suspension  of  this  interplay  of  subjects  while 
the  broadly  sweeping  melody  of  the  introduction  is  carried  through  a 
few  phrases  leading  to  a  quasi  cadence  in  G  sharp  minor.  Here 
follows  in  cognate  tonalities  almost  an  exact  replica  of  the  passage 
just  after  the  close  of  the  first  section;  subject  III  following  a  brief 
reminder  of  II,  proceeding  by  those  sudden  chord  leaps,  repeating  in 
the  related  tonality,  then  the  statements  of  I  alternately  above  and 
below  the  broken  chord  accompaniment.  And  this  as  before  is  followed 
by  the  same  hidden  re-statement  of  IV,  beginning  this  time  in  E  major 
but  swerving  into  the  original  minor  of  F  sharp,  then  modulating  as 
before  by  whole  steps  into  F  sharp  major,  and  G  sharp  minor  and 
enharmonically  into  B  flat  minor  and  finally  into  E  flat  minor,  in 
which  last  key  the  other  phrase  of  subject  IV  is  given  twice  entire. 
Then  the  former  phrase  (4  descending  scale  tones)  is  taken  up  anew 
as  the  upper  tones  of  broken  chords,  the  phrases  are  given  alternately — 
all  this  in  the  key  of  F  sharp  major — then  while  the  broken  chord  work 
continues  as  a  sort  of  accompaniment  suddenly  subject  I  is  heard 
as  the  lowest  part,  first  in  its  original  shape  2-5,-2-5,  then  in  full 
octaves  with  octave  leaps  in  F  sharp  and  suddenly  repeated  in  part 
in  the  key  of  G  (dominant  seventh  chord)  and  again  in  P  sharp, 
after  which  a  short  passage  of  leaping  octaves  brings  us  to  the  subject 
I  stated  with  ascending  interval.  5-8-5-8-5-8,  in  major  and  full  chords 
in  both  hands;  creating  the  most  powerful  climax  as  well  as  surprise 
in  the  whole  movement.  From  this  point  to  the  cadence  Schumann 
follows  closely  his  course  at  the  close  of  the  first  section.  Subject  II 
is  resumed  so  quietly  as  at  first  to  seem  almost  like  an  anti-climax, 
but  as  it  proceeds,  back  in  minor  again,  it  becomes  evident  that 
any  elation  of  expectation  based  on  the  major  climax  was  misplaced 
and  we  are  to  close  in  sombre,  not  to  say  melancholy,  mood.  The 
scale  phrase  of  subject  IV  is  again  made  to  serve  as  closing  subject 
in  the  original  minor,  with  the  same  doubling  of  octaves  when  it  rises 
in  close  semblance  to  a  scale  passage  more  than  an  octave,  and  closes 
as  the  first  section  did  with  the  tones  of  subject  I  heard  from  the 
depths  pianissimo  while  the  melodic  cadence  is  on  3.  After 
that  great  climax  this  descent  is  far  from  expectation  and  the  effect 
of  it  for  that  reason  is  deeply  impressive,  though  sensuously  it  is  a 
less  pleasing  close  than  that  of  the  first  section. 

Whatever  verdict  may  be  reached  as  to  the  comparative  perfection 
of  form  of  these  two  sonata  movements — and  it  can  hardly  be  denied 


g6  The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music , 

that  Beethoven's  has  a  closer  logical  texture  and  coherence — from  our 
point  of  view  there  is  little  to  choose.  The  interest  of  expectation 
and  surprise  which  the  older  composer  secures  by  ingeriious,  even 
imaginative,  elaboration  of  a  small  amount  of  actual  melodic  material, 
the  later  gains  by  playing  off  more  material  in  fresh  combinations; 
moreover  in  this  particular  instance  he  has  the  advantage  of  starting 
out  in  minor  which  gives  more  easy  opportunity  for  rousing  expectation 
and  preparing  surprise  in  connection  with  turning  to  major.  Further, 
whereas  Beethoven  depended  largely  on  scales  for  passage  work, 
Schumann  avoids  them  altogether  and  resorts  to  rather  fresh  broken 
chord  work  with  double  notes,  and  close  inspection  shows  that  he  is 
at  the  same  time  giving  a  fresh  turn  to  his  subjects  in  the  process. 
To  get  the  full  benefit  of  this  by  way  of  expectation  a  very  intelligent 
rendering  and  also  intelligence  in  following  is  more  called  for  than 
in  many  sonatas,  but  it  is  all  there  for  delightful  appreciation.  There 
is  also  a  sort  of  unconcerned  freedom  about  his  treatment  of  modula- 
tion that  Beethoven  had  not  acquired,  though  it  appears  less  labored 
with  him  in  the  first  and  third  movements  of  his  Op.  106,  than  in 
this  Op.  53.  On  the  other  hand  the  postponed  cadence  with  its 
tensity  of  expectation  is  not  equalled  by  anything  in  the  sonata  of 
Schumann,  if  the  latter's  climax  in  major  is  beyond  anything  in  the 
older  work.  Both  are  fine  examples  of  the  capacities  latent  in  the 
sonata  form  in  the  hands  of  a  master  for  massing  effects  and  especially 
for  utilizing  expectation,  even  though  it  be  built  up  more  freely,  less 
according  to  precedent,  as  Schumann  did  construct  his. 

As  hinted  before  the  first  movements  of  violin  and  violoncello 
sonatas,  of  chamber  music  for  trios,  quartets  and  other  combinations, 
and  also  of  all  symphonies  and  concertos  for  piano  or  violin  with 
orchestral  accompaniment,  are  more  or  less  closely  of  sonata  form.  In 
all  of  these  the  composer  has  far  ampler  opportunity  for  rousing  ex- 
pectation and  for  preparing  surprises.  The  different  timber  of  instru- 
ments in  the  statements  and  restatements  of  subjects,  in  all  kinds  of 
imitation  and  thematic  development,  are  one  source  of  pleasure  in 
such  works.  If  a  clarinet  begins  a  melodic  phrase  that  has  been  heard 
in  the  violins,  it  is  fully  expected  that  the  phrase  or  subject  will  not 
be  chopped  up  and  different  fragments  be  distributed  to  different 
instruments.  This  is  but  another  way  of  saying  that  some  kind  of 
continuity  in  the  handling  of  instruments  is  fully  expected  as  well  as 
in  the  treatment  of  thematic  material.  If,  for  example,  the  little 
halting  melody  characteristic  of  De  Bussy's '"L'Apres-midi  d'un  Faune" 
after  being  heard  entire  on  the  flute  should  later  be  heard  part  way 
on  the  flute — say  two  notes — then  were  continued  on  the  clarinet, 
then  picked  up  by  cornet  and  finished  by  violins,  it  would  so  far 
defeat  expectation  as  to  lose  its  character  and  effect  entirely;  it  would 
seem  like  a  musical  jest  that  might  have  its  place  as  a  jest  under 
some  circumstaces  but  would  hardly  be  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  and 
atmosphere  of  a  characteristic  work  of  that  type. 


Interpretation  67 


V.     EXPECTATION  AS  IT  APPEARS  IN  INTERPRETATION 

1.  Rhythmic  Accent.  It  has  already  appeared  in  our  discussion 
above  (v.  I)  that  rhythm  is  a  fundamental  and  pervasive  element 
in  music  and  is  a  basis  constantly  for  expectation.  Such  expectation 
is  naturally  most  alert  and  operative  with  those  listeners  who  have  a 
considerable  capacity  of  subjective  rhythm  so  that  any  series  of  tones 
and  harmonies  falls  for  them  into  some  sort  of  rhythm.  But  a  per- 
former cannot  depend  on  many  in  an  audience  having  this  capacity; 
indeed  some  are  quite  deficient  in  that  direction,  and  for  them  the 
rhythmic  accents  need  to  be  strongly  marked,  or  else  the  music  seems 
defective,  amorphous.  For  many,  who  are  utterly  incapable  of  originat- 
ing a  rhythm  subjectively,  respond  quite  readily  to  its  force  when  it  is 
objectively  clear.  It  is  not  meant  that  time  must  be  marked  by 
twos  or  threes  or  fours,  just  as  it  is  indicated  at  the  beginning.  And 
yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  such  marking  of  time  is  at  the  root  of 
the  whole  matter.  Many  who  are  wholly  incapable  of  following  the 
broader  sweep  of  a  subtle  yet  real  rhythm,  whether  in  music  or  speech 
(poetry  or  prose),  have  this  simple  accentuation  and  its  appropriate 
response  deep-seated  in  their  constitution.  In  fact,  so  inveterate  is 
this  inherited  bent  or  gift  that  any  attempt  to  set  music  before  them 
without  any  rhythm,  a  sort  of  sensuous  sweetness  in  more  or  less  con- 
tinuous flow,  without  light  and  shade  or  high  and  low  of  intensity, 
would  prove  a  total  failure;  it  would  not  be  music  for  them.  And  if 
we  may  judge  by  the  persistent  hold  that  prevailing  popular  songs 
and  instrumental  pieces  for  piano,  or  small  orchestra  and  band,  have 
on  public  favor,  it  must  be  admitted  that  except  in  the  ranges  of 
serious  and  sincere  art  the  easy,  straight  rhythms  by  twos  and  threes  and 
fours  occupy  the  field,  that  the  less  obvious  and  subtle  rhythms  must 
for  some  time  yet  endure  the  general  reproach  of  the  "highbrow." 
And  yet,  when  we  are  studying  the  psychology  of  music  as  a  universal 
phenomenon  the  obvious  and  easily  intelligible  must  be  subjected  to  as 
searching  an  analysis  as  the  more  profound,  which  we  may  recognize  indeed 
as  the  higher  type  of  art  and  more  worthy  of  cultivation  by  serious- 
minded  students,  but  which  is  much  more  limited  in  its  range  of 
appreciative  appeal.  While  we  may  leave  to  the  theory  of  aesthetics 
the  question  whether  there  is  any  reality  of  art  where  appreciative 
reponse  is  lacking,  it  is  a  question  of  direct  importance  to  us  from  the 
psychological  side  whether  to  rule  out  of  court  as  inartistic  and  not 
worthy  of  consideration  the  musical  activities  of  those  who  depend 
for  their  aesthetic  enjoyment  on  the  simpler  and  more  direct  appeal. 
They  are  just  as  truly  within  the  scope  of  such  a  study  as  the  serious 
artist,  and  for  them  without  question  a  failure  to  hear  definite  and  regu- 
lar rhythmic  accents  would  interfere  with  enjoyment,  and  largely 
because  expectation  would  not  be  satisfactorily  met. 

2.  For  the  primitive  man,  and  likewise  for  the  student  of  voice 
today,  there  is  close  connection  between  intensity  and  pitch.  It  is 
found  to  be  difficult  to  increase  the  volume  of  tone  when  the  pitch  is 
stationary  or  descending  and  conversely  to  lesson  the  volume  when 
the  pitch  is  rising.  This  is  a  natural  basis  of  expectation  for  singing 
and  the  same  expectation  is  transferred  to  instrumental  progressions. 
A  chorus  or  any  orchestra  seldom  need  special  training  for  a  light 
crescendo  in  a  rising  sequence  or  dimiuendo  in  a  falling  sequence; 
but    the     contrary    procedure    would    call    for    careful    training.     The 


6S The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

listener  is  also  under  the  same  law  and  conformity  to  it  would  bring 
satisfaction,  while  special  attention  with  degrees  of  surprise  and  interest 
would  result  from  an  infraction  of  it.  A  crescendo  in  a  descending 
series  of  tones  or  diminuendo  in  an  ascending  series  is  more  efTective 
with  the  same  difference  of  intensity  involved  than  the  opposite,  just 
because  it  is  contrary  to  expectation. 

3.  Owing  to  the  prevalence  of  repetition  in  the  structure  of  musical 
compositions  expectation  is  active  not  only  for  the  melodic  and  harmonic 
sequences  as  they  recur  but  for  the  way  they  are  rendered  as  well.  The 
first  rendering  of  a  phrase  that  is  to  be  repeated  a  number  of  times 
sets  an  interpretive  pattern  for  the  whole  series,  and  when  the  phrase 
begins  the  second  time  the  more  or  less  clear  memory  of  the  first 
leads  to  expectation  of  close  following  of  the  pattern,  and  satisfaction 
as  this  is  noted  step  by  step.  But  just  as  the  composer  can  create 
fresh  interest  by  modifying  the  sequences,  so  too  the  performer  may 
introduce  a  new  shading,  a  slight  change  in  tempo,  and  avoid  the 
effect  of  sameness  and  monotony.  A  group  of  perfojmers  is,  of  course, 
subject  to  the  same  restrictions  as  one,  being  under  the  direction  of 
one  leader;  and  personality  can  make  itself  clearly  felt  in  the  thoughtful 
use  of  variety  of  rendering  for  the  same  sequences. 

4.  Custom  has  its  large  influence  in  interpretation  as  elsewhere. 
In  some  nations  where  harmony  is  not  in  use  Its  place  is  partly  supplied 
by  a  use  of  the  voice  which  to  cultivated  audiences  would  be  distasteful. 
Thus  in  India  singers  in  public  seek  to  give  expression  and  variety 
to  a  melody  by  numerous  intermediate  tones  with  a  sort  of  quaver 
in  the  voice;  this  is  expected  and  is  listened  to  with  far  deeper  satis- 
faction than  a  different  style  would  be:  the  full  steady  tones  and 
clean-cut  intervals  such  as  occidental  audiences  of  advanced  culture 
called  for  in  the  singer.  The  latter  type  of  audience  Would  be  likely 
to  greet  the  former  type  of  artist  with  laughter;  the  surprise  would 
be  so  keen  as  to  pass  the  line  into  the  pdiculous. 


Analogies  69 


VI.     ANALOGIES  IN  OTHER  ARTS 

Expectation  plays  a  role  in  every-day  life,  in  such  matters  as 
social  conventions,  manners,  costume  and  the  like.  In  many  cases 
surprise  occasions  less  of  pleasure  than  of  disgust  or  ridicule  in  these 
spheres  of  life.  The  necessary  conformity  to  well-established  custom 
or  rule  to  maintain  comfort  in  smoothness  of  mutual  relations  causes 
us  to  feel  keenly  any  disregard  of  convention.  We  are  here  even  on 
the  border  line  where  the  ethics  and  aesthetics  of  daily  life  meet; 
for  many  customs  of  one  country  involve  gross  insult  and  even  moral 
obhquity  in  the  eyes  of  those  from  another  country.  This  is  the  realm 
where  habituation  accomplishes  its  work  for  social  intercourse  and  finds 
its  way  by  fine  gradations  into  the  nicer  distinctions  of  art.  Reference 
has  been  made  (especially  in  the  Introduction  III,  1  and  2)  to  certain 
differences  between  music  on  the  one  hand  and  some  of  the  other 
arts  on  the  other  hand.  It  will  be  of  interest  to  point  out  briefly 
some  closer  analogies. 

1.  In  poetry  the  closest  analogy  appears  between  the  recited  poem 
and  song  rendered.  In  both  there  is  the  rhythmic  utterence  of  intervals 
which  even  in  the  spoken  sentence  have  melodic  phrases.  In  both 
there  is  rise  and  fall  of  voice  following  the  emphasis  of  thought.  In 
both  finally  is  a  cadence  at  the  close,  which  is  felt  to  properly  conclude 
the  series  of  sounds.  Among  the  Greeks  the  two  virtually  merged  in 
one.  But  with  our  elaborate  system  of  music  the  song  has  its  ac- 
companiment fitted  to  the  melody  and  its  series  of  expectations  on 
the  musical  side  is  quite  independent  of  those  growing  out  of  the 
sequence  of  thought,  though  a  careful  interpretation  will  avoid  marking 
the  difference  too  clearly.  In  the  spoken  sentence  the  melody  sequence 
may  be  repeated  with  very  close  exactness  a  number  of  times  without 
causing  monotony  of  effect,  because  a  certain  type  of  inflection— with 
fall  at  the  close — is  best  adapted  to  express  the  thought  in  a  simple 
declarative  sentence;  and  while  the  rhythmic  flow  has  its  element 
of  pleasure,  the  principal  aim  of  the  listener  is  to  secure  a  clear  suc- 
cession of  images  and  thoughts.  A  faulty  inflection,  such  as  leaving 
the  voice  on  a  high  pitch  in  a  positive  statement,  or  dropping  or  raising 
the  pitch  suddenly  without  occasion  at  some  hap-hazard  point,  or 
a  falling  cadence  in  a  question  or  some  negations,  would  interfere 
so  decidedly  with  expectation  that  the  thought  would  often  be  practical- 
ly lost,  and  always  weakened.  In  the  reciting  of  prose,  in  oratory, 
the  rhythm  would  be  less  regular  and  subtler,  approaching  at  times 
what  we  know  in  music  as  syncopated  rhythm*  with  rubato  effects, 
and  also  with  occasional  more  or  less  regular  swing.  In  the  matter  of 
sentence- melody  and  inflection  (including  especially  cadence)  there 
would  not  be  so  much  difference.  Sudden  changes  and  departures 
from  a  simple  inflection  could  be  made  to  combine  with  peculiar 
words  or  far-fetched  images  to  secure  a  humorous  appeal  with  laughter. 
It  is  a  point  well  worth  investigation  how  far  music,  without  any 
words  to  evoke  clearly  defined  images  or  thoughts,  can  convey  or 
embody  humor  that  is  generally  recognizable  as  such.  I  have  had 
music  described  to  me  as  deliciously  humorous  in  which  I  had  never 
discerned  that  quality.  In  songs  and  music-dramas,  where  words 
and  action  combine  to  define  images  or  thoughts  it  becomes  an  entirely 

*Patt<er8on,  Op.  cJt.  passim. 


70  The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

different  question;  with  such  images  in  mind  or  actually  before  our 
eyes  the  apropriateness  of  musical  surprises  would  be  felt,  when  without 
the  images  the  majority  of  an  ordinary  audience  would  simply  wonder 
what  on  earth  the  composer  was  tr\Mng  to  do. 

2.  Drama.  Here  the  acting  adds  another  element  of  succession 
to  the  spoken  word  and  thereby  opens  up  a  new  source  of  expectation, 
while  on  the  side  of  utterance  what  has  been  said  above  would  apply 
with  equal  justice.  Habituation  and  convention  both  play  an  im- 
portant part  and  in  different  nationalities  they  present  striking  differ- 
ences. In  the  Chinese  drama  it  excites  no  surprise  to  see  attendants 
changing  properties  while  the  action  still  goes  on;  but  in  European 
and  American  drama  for  the  most  part  the  effort  prevails  to  keep  the 
machinery  out  of  evidence  as  interfering  with  the  illusion.  Then  in 
the  action  itself  there  are  stereotyped  gestures  for  certain  emotions  or 
efforts.  In  the  Hindu  drama  strong  excitement  is  commonly  expressed 
by  an  actor  by  a  leap  into  the  air  while  his  feet  nearly  touch  each 
other.  This  attitude  is  often  depicted  in  paintings  of  heroes  of  the 
Hindu  drama  and  is  expected  fully  in  the  drama  itself,  yet  during 
many  years  residence  in  that  country  I  never  saw  a  man  in  that  attitude 
in  actual  life.  The  classic  drama  in  France  held  the  convention  that 
no  act  of  violence  should  be  represented  on  the  stage,  and  it  was 
felt  as  an  outrage  on  the  fundamental  principles  of  dramatic  construct- 
ion when  the  Romanticists  indulged  themselves  to  the  point  where  it 
was  hardly  felt  to  be  dramatic  unless  there  was  violence.  Then  in 
the  matter  of  the  unities  some  playwrights  and  audiences  were  satis- 
fied with  what  others  felt  as  an  unwarranted  restriction.  But  hardly 
in  any  branch  of  the  drama  are  conventions  so  strorig  or  numerous 
as  in  the  opera,  where  actors  are  allowed  with  no  expression  of  sur- 
prise, but  rather  with  the  highest  satisfaction,  to  do  what  nobody 
ever  thinks  of  doing  in  actual  life.  Audiences  prove  how  little  they 
care  for  the  real  meaning  of  the  action  by  compelling  the  hero  to  sing 
his  declaration  of  love  or  his  death-song  encore;  which  is  fully  as  absurd 
as  to  have  properties  changed  during  action  and  interferes  more  with 
the  movernent  of  the  drama.  Judging  from  observation  the  majority 
of  an  audience  in  the  ordinary  play,  or  even  in  many  a  serious  drama 
that  aims  to  present  a  convincing  illusion  of  real  life,  are  better 
convinced  of  lofty  spirit  in  a  man  by  the  stagey  pose,  or  of  strong 
emotion  by  the  affected  strut  and  loud  declamation,  than  by  the 
simplicity  of  demeanor  they  see  ever>'  day.  It  is  as  if  these  somewhat 
extraordinary  attitude  and  action  were  accepted  as  visible  symbols 
of  unseen  mental  states  which  would  not  seem  to  be  present  if  the 
appropriate  _  symbol  were  wanting. 

But  aside  from  these  conventions  there  is  constant  expectation 
operating  in  the  demand  for  continuity  and  consistency  of  action, 
and  corresponding  satisfaction,  or  surprise,  with  attendant  pleasure  or 
disappointment,  according  as  the  action  meets  the  expectation  or  falls 
below  it.  When,  for  instance,  an  occasion  for  violent  passion  is  taken 
too  tamely,  or  a  mild  excitement  is  turned  into  a  sort  of  riot,  the 
discrepancy  jars  unpleasantly.  And  as  the  play  proceeds  the  suspense 
both  of  uncertain  questioning  and  of  confident  expectation  are  heighten- 
ed by  the  combining  of  different  threads  of  action  until  a  climax  is 
reached  and  relaxation  with  relief  follows  the  denoument.  And 
there_  is  aesthetic  pleasure  in  that  even  though  there  were  painful 
emotions  stirred  by  the  special  character  of  the  ending — as  in  a  tragedy. 
On  the  screen  expectation  from  the  very  beginning  of  a  six-reel  feature- 
film_  holds  constantly  before  the  spectator's  mind  the  conventional 
•closing  scene — with  variations  only  in  minutiae — where  all  difficulties 
are  overcome  and  the  struggling  hero  and  heroine  are  united,  and  he 
feels  a  ,real  lack  if  he  does  not  actually  see  the  prolonged  kiss.     It  is 


Analogies 71 

doubtful  whetlier  any  producer  would  dare  to  disappoint  the  audience 
by  a  genuine  tradegy,  though  they  all  aim  to  produce  fantastic  sur- 
prises with  humorous  intent  in  their  comedies. 

3.  In  fiction,  the  effort  of  the  author  is  to  conjure  up  the  scene 
and  action  to  the  reader's  imagination;  but  in  portraying  character 
and  in  dialogue  and  representing  life  the  purposes  are  fundarnentally 
akin  to  those  of  the  drama,  and  many  conventions  and  habituation 
enter  in  to  modify  the  operation  of  expectation.  One  special  advantage 
fiction  enjoys  grows  out  of  the  abundant  opportunity  it  affords  for 
the  analyzing  of  situations  and  character;  it  makes  it  possible  to 
heighten  expectation  by  pointing  out  the  potentialities  involved  and 
by  postponement.  Suspense  can  thus  be  rendered  almost  painfully 
acute.  The  author  can  play  on  the  feelings  of  the  reader  by  emphasiz- 
ing his  doubts  and  fears  until  the  relaxation  at  the  climax  which  clears 
all  difficulties  brings  a  real  thrill  of  relief.  This  resort  to  the  imagina- 
tion is  denied  to  music  and  such  violence  of  feeling  can  hardly  be 
created  without  its  powerful  aid.  Moreover  the  dread  and  hope  roused 
by  a  well  wrought  illusion  of  real  life  are  of  a  nature  foreign  to  the 
aesthetic  expectation  that  operates  in  music  or  the  plastic  arts.  The 
musician  who  experiences  a  thrill  of  relief  when  the  suspense  of  a  long- 
sustained  discord  is  ended  has  felt  neither  hope  nor  dread  of  good 
fortune  or  calamity  which  involve  himself  or  people  in  whom  he  has 
become  interested.  It  is  of  the  essence  of  the  novelist's  art^ — and  the 
same  holds  tme  to  a  certain  extent  of  the  dramatist — to  so  engage 
the  reader's  interest  in  the  characters  and  their  destinies  that  he  in  a 
measure  indentify  himself  with  them.  For  such  results  the  stimulation 
of  the  imagination  by  vivid  and  definite  pictures,  which  must  be 
intellectually  apprehended,  is  indispensable. 

Hope  and  dread  are  akin  to  the  expectation  in  music  in  this 
respect,  that  they  occasion  (like  it)  a  nervous  tension  which  then  is 
followed  by  relaxation  when  the  denoument  brings  relief.  But 
the  rhythmic  feature  so  prominent  in  musical  expectation  is  wholly 
lacking  in  fiction  (in  the  high  emotion,  not  in  the  arrangement  of  words 
or  sentences) ;  whereas  the  expectation  in  music  may  recur  with  clock- 
like accuracy  and  please  repeatedly. 

4.  In  the  plastic  arts  there  is  absent  the  succession  which  gives 
the  opening  for  expectation  in  music  and  those  above  discussed.  The 
aim  of  a  work  of  painting,  sculpture,  architecture  or  design  is  to  present 
a  certain  collocation  of  objects  (colors,  lines,  etc.)  that  are  to  be  ap- 
prehended as  a  unit  within  the  span  of  vision.  In  this  unit  the 
symmetry,  the  light  and  shade,  the  composition,  the  color  scheme,  are 
visualized  in  their  completeness  and  achieve  the  intended  aesthetic 
eflfect  only  under  that  condition.  Then  the  observer  may  let  his  gaze 
pass  from  point  to  point — if  it  is  a  plane  surface — or  from  side  to 
side — if  it  is  a  solid — ,  and  so  create  a  subjective  succession;  in  this 
there  is  a  possibility  of  a  slight  degree  of  expectation  and  mild  surprise. 
The  connoisseur  or  artist  would  find  a  certain  delight  in  perceiving 
by  what  handling  of  material  the  effect  was  secured,  how  far  regularity 
and  exact  symmetry  were  observed.  But  the  ordinary  observer,  who 
corresponds  to  the  ordinary  listener  in  a  concert,  hardly  develops 
a  minimum  of  expectation  or  feels  the  least  surprise  at  anything  he 
sees.  It  is  hardly  natural  that  he  should;  if  he  enjoys  or  is  inspired 
by  the  ensemble,  the  chief — if  not  only — aim  of  the  artist  is  fulfilled. 
But  the  composer  counts  on  the  essentia?  succession  of  sounds,  on 
the  series  of  spans  necessarily  involved  in  the  creation  of  his  work 
of  art;  he  chooses  one  order  of  succession  rather  than  another  because 
it  is,  or  is  not,  definitely  expected,  and  secures  the  effect  he  seeks 
accordingly  in  the  satisfaction  or  surprise. 


72  The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 


SUMMARY 


1.  Expectation,  and  its  correlates  of  fulfillment  and  surprise, 
constitute  a  basic  and  universal  element  in  the  enjoyment  and  ap- 
preciation of  music. 

2.  As  a  source  of  aesthetic  gratification  it  differs  from  the  sensuous 
appeal,  the  somatic  response  of  rhythm,  interval  and  chord  and  their 
combinations,  in  that  attention  is  more  alert  and  the  intellectual  factor 
more  prominent. 

3.  The  operation  of  expectation  is  not  confined  to  any  one  system 
of  music  but  has  its  place  in  them  all. 

4.  The  more  complex  the  system  of  music  the  more  opportunity 
for  expectation  and  its  effects. 

5.  The  operation  of  expectation  in  any  given  case  is  largely 
dependent  on  habituation,  in  degree  and  kind  of  action. 

6.  There  are  special  reasons  in  the  facts  of  succession  and  repeti- 
tion why  expectation  is  more  active  in  music  than  in  any  other  art, 
dancing  being  the  nearest  approach. 

7.  The  difficulty  experienced  in  securing  recognition  for  irmova- 
tions  in  music  is  due  largely  to  the  necessary  re-adjustment  of  ex- 
pectation when  it  is  thwarted  by  the  strange,  as  well  as  the  mere 
difficulty  of  habituating  the  ear. 

8.  Aesthetic  pleasure  and  interest  can  be  much  increased  by  the 
heightening  of  expectation  whereby  both  satisfaction  of  relief  and 
surprise  are  heightened. 

9.  There  is  opportunity  for  expectation  in  each  of  the  constituent 
elements  of  rnusic,  rhythm,  melody,  harmony  and  form — and  likewise 
in  interpretation — and  development  in  any  element  gives  larger  scope 
for  its  operation. 

10.  The  combination  of  these  elements  in  modern  occidental 
music  makes  it  possible  to  create  climaxes  of  intense  suspense  with 
corresponding  relief  and  aesthetic  delight. 

11.  Expectation  may  not  be  consciously  sought  by  the  composer 
or  its  operation  consciously  noted  by  the  listener  who  enjoys  his  work. 
But  it  is  the  operation  of  it  that  leads  the  composer  to  adopt  one 
sequence  rather  than  another,  and  that  contributes  a.  vital  share  to 
the  enjoyment  of  the  listener. 

12.  Even  after  one  is  familiar  with  a  composition  so  that  there 
is  intellectual  certainty  as  to  sequence,  i.  e.,  no  suspense,  the  en- 
joyment is  not  lessened;  that  part  of  jt  which  gre^v  out  of  expectation 
is  still  active.  " 


Bibliography  73 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


AwRAMOFF,    D.     Arbeit   u.    Rhythmus,    Philos.    St.    XVIII,    1903. 

Bingham,  W.  V.     Studies  in  melody.     Psy.  Rev.  Monog.  Suppl.  XII, 
1910. 

Britan,  H.  H.     The  philosophy  of  music,  N.  Y.,  1911. 

BucHER,  K.     Arbeit  u.  Rhythmus.  4th  ed.  Leipzig,  1909. 

DuRR,   E.     Die  Lehre  v.   d.   Aufmerksamkeit,   Leipzig,    1907. 

Ebbinghaus,    H.     Grundzuge    d.    Psychologic,    Leipzig,    1911. 

Fillmore,  J.  C,  and  Fletcher,  Alice  C.    A  Study  of  Omaha  Indian 
Music,  Cambridge,  1893. 

Gn.MAN,  L.     Nature  in  Music,    N.  Y.,  1914. 

Grove,  G.     Dictionary  of  Music  and  Musicians. 

Hadow,  W.  H.     Studies  in  Modem   Music;  First  and  Second  Series. 
London,  1896-7. 

Helmholz,  H.  L.  F.     Die  Lehre  v.  d.  Tonempfindungen.  Braunschweig, 
1896.     Trans,  by  Ellis,  A.  J.,  London,   1875. 

Hohenemser,  R.     Zur  Theorie  d.  Tonbeziehungen.  Zeits.  f.  Psych,  u. 
Phys.  d.  Sinnesorgane,  26.  1901. 

Indy,  d',  V.    Cours  de  composition  musicale,  Paris,   1912. 

James,  W.     The  Principles  of  Psychology,   N.   Y.,   1890. 

Jentsch,  E.     Musik  u.  Nerven.     Grenzfr.  d.  Nerven  u.  Seelen-Lebens. 
Heft.   78,   1911. 

Kemp,  W.     Methodisches  u.  Exper.  z.  Lehre  v.  d.  Tonverschmelzung. 
Arch.  f.  d.  ges.  Psych.  29,  1913. 

Ladd,  G.  F.     Psychology  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  4th  ed.  N.  Y., 
1911. 

Ladd,    G.    T.    and    Woodworth,    R.    S.     Elements    of    Physiological 
Psychology.,   N.   Y.,   1911. 

Landormy,  p.     La  logique  du  Discours  Musical.     Rev.  Phil.,   1904. 

Lipps,  Th.     Aesthetik,  MUnchen,  1913. 

Marx,  A.  B.     Kompositionslehre,  vol.  I,  edited  by  Riemann. 

Beethoven,  sein  Leben  u.  Schaffen,  5th  ed.,  Berlin,   1901. 
Die  Musik  d.  neunzehnten  Jahrhunderts? 

Mason,  D.  G.     Beethoven  and  His  Forerunners,  N.  Y.,  1918. 

The  Romantic  Composers,  N.  Y,,  1919. 

From  Grieg  to  Brahms,  N.  Y.,  1902. 

Contemporary  Composers,  N.  Y.,  1918. 


74  The  Role  of  Expectation  in  Music 

Meyer,  M.     Experimental  studies  in  the  psychology  of  music.  Amer.  J. 
Psy.  XIV;   1903. 

Contributions   to    a   psychological    theory    of    music.    Univ.    of 
Mo.    Studies   I,    1. 

Some  points  of  difference  in  the  theory  of  music.   Psy.  Rev. 
X,  1903. 

More,  H.  T.     The  genetic  aspect  of  consonance.  Harv.  Psy.  St.  4,  1915. 

Norton,   E.  L.     The  intellectual  element  in  music.     Studies  in  Phil, 
and   Psych.    Commemorative   volume,    Boston,    1906,   p.    167. 

Patterson,  W.  M.    The  rhythm  of  prose.  N.  Y.,  1916. 

PiLLSBURY,  W.  B.     Attention,  N.  Y.,  1908. 

Riemann,  H.     Grosse  Kompositionslehre,  Bd.  1,  Berlin,  1902. 

RoLLAND,  R.     Jean  Christophe.     Trans,  by  Cannan,  G.,  N.  Y.,  1910- 
1913. 

Musicians  d'  aujourd'hui,    Paris,  1908. 
Trans,  by  Blaiklock,  Mary,  N.  Y.,  1915. 

Seashore,  C.  E.     The  psychology  of  musical  talent.     Boston,  1919. 

Siebeck,   H.     Ueber  d.   musikalische  Einfiihlung.     Zeits.   f.   Phil.    127, 
1906. 

Stumpf,   K.     Tonpsychologie.    Leipzig,    1890. 

Die    Anfarige    d.  Musik.     Leipzig,   1911. 

Weld,  H.  P.     An  experimental  study  of  musical  enjoyment.     Amer.  J. 
Psy.,  XXIII,  1912. 

Wundt,  W.     Grundziige  d.  physiologischen  Psychologie.  Leipzig,  1911. 
Volkerpsychologie.   Leipzig,   1900-09. 


COMPOSERS 

(Studied  orv.Considered) 


Abt 

MacDowell 

Arenskv 

Mendelssohn 

Bach,  j.  S. 

Merkel 

Bantock    ,.|»-  g 

IW^^EM-^  Meyerbeerl 

Barnby 

Ll  [   i.-.  t.  ^f  Monteverde 

Beethoven 

Moszkowski 

Berlioz 

Mozart 

Bishop,  Sir  H. 

R.                        Nicod6 

Bizet 

Ornstein 

Brahms 

Paderewski 

Bntch 

Palestrina 

Buck 

Parker,  Horatio 

Chabrier 

Piem6 

Chadwick 

Purcell 

Chopin 

Rachmaninoff 

Clementi 

Raff 

Cui 

Rameau 

Debussy 

Reger 

DeKoven 

Reinecke 

Di  Lasso 

Reubke 

Dubois 

Rheinberger 

Dvorak 

Rossini 

Elgar 

Rubinstein 

Faure 

Saint-Saens 

_FIotow 

Scarlatti,  D. 

Foote 

Scharwenka,  P. 

Foster,  S.  C. 

Scharwenka,  X. 

Franck 

Schubert 

Franz 

Schumann 

Gade 

Sousa 

Gaul 

Scott,  C. 

Gluck 

Scriabine 

Goldmark 

Shelley 

Gounod 

Sibelius 

Grieg 

Spohr 

Guilmant 

Strauss,  J. 

Handel 

Strauss,  R. 

Haydn,  F.  J. 

Sullivan 

Heller 

Suppe 

Herbert 

Thiele 

Humperdinck 

Tschaikowski 

d'  Indy 

Verdi 

Jensen 

Wagner,  R. 

Kirchner 

Weber,  C.  M. 

Kjerulf 

Widor 

Lassen 

Wolf,  H. 

Liszt 

Wolf-Ferrari 

1,  p.  6 

2,  p.    6 

^'''"  r  r  r 


rt 


^ 


ete. 


i*^ ^ 


?=y^ 


* 


^ 


i 


^ 


^ 


^s 


p 


3,    p      fi 


^ 


?rl*JJI*JJIJ^?^ 


t^ri 


4,  p.    6 


l^iiJljQ^  J  IjjJ^^^  If  f  t^^ 


^W 


M  MM 


f  ^  f  If  f  j^ 


5,  p.    6 


g^ 


S 


i 


^ 


^ 


^ 


etc. 


^ 


"7,   p.    6 


a*!  n  f  r  r 


H^+M^ 


m 


^>ii  r  r  r  r.ir:^-f  1^  r  r  r^^r^ 


8,   p     6 

CI 


•^  JitJ  jlj  jl-j-jlj'jlj   jlj  i^ 


eto. 


9,    p     6 


^S: 


^^ 


f — 1» 


^^^^^^ 


^^ 


(^^   t       •> 


W 


m 


^m 


s 


U  ILU 


etf 


10,   p.    6 


y-i.r  jjjjjjj^^jiJilTJij^j^j^^^^ 


11,   p      6 


t^tt^t^g 


i^^ 


s 


p  r  p(>ii 


^ 


etc 


etc 


12,  p.   6 


^ 


miLi.f  fffi 

etc. 


i:: — i=i 


¥=^ 


13,  p.   6 


^ 


,     *?     ^  1 


^ 


^ 


i 


a 


^ 


etc 


S 


IS 


14,    p.    7 


Plt^ii^l 


■^'-f:  It.      i»--   i»-  <••.   i»-   I*--  -g-    /:!» 
■=^=T^t t^-^t-V-     I  lit:  T  I    g^ 


^^^l-c.    » 


rP^T 


etc. 


Bi 


r 


f 


16,   p.   T 


n,  1..  9 


h^[lP^ 


^ 


s 


1«,    p     10 


W 


-  m^^ 


IE 


m 


19,    \>     i-4   d    23 


1^  y  7 


i 


^ 


i 


^ 


m   m   m. 


^^ 


/T\ 


/r\ 


m^ 


iHah 


19,    p     12 


^^m 


f^ 


P¥ 


etc. 


s 


^ 


ii 


^ 


i 

is:. 


:^ 


:2L 


S 


20,  p.  n     X 


^-fP^iiTJji,rjjJiJ^-iiJ^|J^ 


^etc 


Hindu 
Scotch 


f4i^,ljJ^JJjlJ-^>liJ^Jj]^ 


-fte. 


lil,    |i      1H        Adugio  (Crudf) 


^^ 


m 


^^^^W^T^ 


I  Finishfd) 


Z'4,   |>     :;3 


pi^4i^j-tiygjj.^Lj^ 


23,  p     -Zit 


$ 


;'if-  p  I 


mt#^ 


^^^¥W 


cte. 


etc 


g^ 


24,  p     25 


I^ljj-f=^M 


25,    J)     25      Air,     "Mespiah" 


2C,  p.   25    Air  "Creation" 


^ 


^ 


g 


±^ 


g      i  a 


28,   p     25 


30,    p.   26 


31,  p.    26 


au,  p.  -io  oi,  |>.    A."  ^  ^ 

iJ^iMMjJji  I J    ll,r''rtg:^ 


32,   p.    26 


Ij    Hi  Hjjili  Mil  ilpi' 


33,   I.     2fi         ^_^ 


i 


34,  p.  26    (Used  in   Pomona,  College  sonft) 


35,  p.   26   (Son,  no     K    Adngio) 


36,  p     5i6 

Sonata  lor  4  hds     ist   movemenl       =^'^' T    -^'     Stu,kfzur4     H.,nd.n,    I 


&iii_-Jr::j-^^:=^t4|fci=g 


3«,    p.    26 


f  f 


fesg 


39,    p      26 


^ 


ote. 


40,    p     '-^6 


41,   I)      26 


^^^lfflW±tpg#^i^^i^:^ 


^  et( 


42,   p     26    (Majnucht) 


43,  p.  26 


m/tTii^mhsnfM.^^^^ 


I  <•    37  above 


W 


(8vo   basso) 
44,  p     26     Wolk,   H    "VerborgenJieit"   45    p   27    Danks,H    P  , "Ashamed  ot   Jesu^ 


ilJJJ-J'lMV'JJI^i^tf? 


f 


i^KTT;. 


m^ 


f 


rr 


4r),  p.  27   S(  humann,  "Mit    Myrlen"        46,   p     21 


47,   p    27    (MaraUii     Hymnbook,    my   notation) 


(Cadenre) 


pi!iu-'jjJM%^^'^^''j- \n^}>i  -ij'^ 


4«,   p     28 


^MQff^ffwjl^nd^jO^i^^ 


49,   p     28    Air,   "("hrislmas  Oratorio" 


^^^m^i^^^: 


50,    p      2H 


^f^ 


61,   p      29     4    40 


repeated 


j'f'CJjT  J  f  ?  If    (  )l-      '  [JJ 


Suggested  close-    p      40 


j  r  J  r-  P 


o  — p m 


5 


52,    D     29 


^ 


SiM=:J-J-^ 


^ 


^ 


S 


i 


^ 


:i 


##j^ 


U 


etc      Crossing  the  Bar 
I  by    Bissell, 

4       — 


S 


mr=m 


53,  p.    31 


h^ 


Adagio 


igtirrrir 


z^U^lfJ^fJ 


f^  P      ,    -^TFT 


^^ 


fciiilJ     \  I     i=#^3r 


r^S^ 


55,    p     8 


Tonic 


Dom  Tonic  Toni* 


m 


^m 


^it 


I     !■  ^ 


i    Jl 


^PP 


W — g 


Dom  Tonic       ^onic 

Fine 


Tonic 


-t— 1— ea — 


^ 


t=r 


Sub    d       f^ 


m 


i 


#        9 


^ 


Da   capo 


56,  p      35      From  the   oriijinwl 

in  the  opera  "Xerxes"     5",    p      3o 


r  etc 


^=^^pp^ 


tiS,   p     Mr 


( 


"3^     r^^:i1;^; 


a-      ~W     0 


59.    p      ;-![ 


W^^m 


-T^        -* 


^^ 


^ 


Wf 


a 


£4^=^ 


s^ 


'tzgJ?     *  r-^z^-d-d-±^ 


r^ 


•  -^ 


p 


60,    p.    36 


^ 


i^l 


•f 


as 


dK=i:^ 


^ 


i^i. 


il 


s 


ijn 


it«b  v.'^ " 


61.  p.    36 


'V.I;  'STyf 


» 


etr 


62,    p     37 


i 


T~T 


ii 


i_  s^n 


^^ 


nr^r 


«f~r^ 


4-uL 


J.       m 


ill,. 


^ 


B^ 


raarzjeqs: 


g^ff^rtf 


^j 


A 


LA=^ 


Cl^ 


3EE5 


?S^ 


Tzr^ 


LT 


3^ 


i=t=iz^ 


^^ 


i 


J1?. 


etc. 


^f-ffef^f^ff^ 


63,  p     :j« 


(Alternate) 


^=^ 


^^ 


*^ g         g 


I 


^<^    ^ 


M^ 


.^ 


^EEEE^ 


3^: 


64,   p     3M 


^ 


^^^ 


t. 


eto 


^ 


mM 


etc 


^ 


6F>,    p     3« 


I 


Jrri— j 


fejE5 


^^ 


Tir. 


e^^ffl; 


EpE 


*^*ii* 


?=S 


W=^ 


a 


^ 


etc. 


m^mMm 


=?3 


^^ 


66.  p.   41 


S 


=tef 


^^_J_Ub^ 


re 


Kg 


m 


h 


SL 


S 


1 © S- 


f^ 


33: 


6*7,   p.    41 


i; 


^ 


^£ 


68,   p     41 


f^ 


/r\ 


-^-hr 


^ 


r^ 


el''. 


i)t,i;  2 


§ 


^3 


^1*  |g     ,~m- 


^gffW 


/-Tn 


S^g^^ 


f^ 


ti^tizkw: 


^     \> 


69,  p.    41 


^^ 


a 


/Tv 


/Tn 


■iO,  p.    44 


^•|.<l^    j:j^ 


i 


F^^ 


f^ 


'>-»/'r^^  ,-.'^ 


etc. 


6 


I 


s^^ 


p 


^ 


VC/ 


•71,  p.    45 


i 


i 


zS 


4 


^^P^-^^frf 


£ 


^ 


^ 


^ 


^ 


^ 


? 


etc 


-fi»-         tS'- 


'72,  J).    45 


^^ 


h^jp- 


i 


// 


■  ^^fe£=;ld;:j:j= 


*/    -f 


^;-  ^i^JT^ 


4^= 

.«/     et( 


"73,   p     47 


U 


m 


ymv 


i  h8  ff^ 


r^ 


^4 ..  f^ 


^m 


ifc 


te- 


rs 


^ftt^f  j^- 


ii!M 


J 


4ei 


siiJ 


etc 


# 


i=..i 


74,  p.   48 


i 


>  ft  /. 


ii 


£ 


a 


s 


^ 


s 


WW 


w 


1 


-* — f~ 

..a 


^fe 


/^ 


^ 


ft 


75,    p.    49 


^m 


zsJ  \is^  iJJ  zJj^i:^\w 


"76,   p.    49 


8—. 


m^ 


^ 


etc , 


,^^ 


E^ 


#  _: — w 

IT      -r 


TJ,    J)      50 


I 


»i=^ 


•78,  p    50 


#-TT.  TT 


i 


^^ 


j^tji-TJI  ^ 


fe^ 


i 


ESl 


S 


etc. 


^^^y 


^ 


I 


^ 


T9,    p     GO 


80,   p.    50  <^ 


m^i^y.  ^ 


^m 


I 


^ 


s 


f^ 


tsfei>  ^^J 


^g 


^ 


^ 


.S 


i^ 


f^ 


81,   V     51 


8  2,  p     53 


-^ii  gj  i^rrr  TTrr^^^ffmf 


Ud^ 


et<^ 


W^y?#^ffl1#^ff 


if     d'S — •      • s  ' ■— 1^ 


-ete-. 


84,  p    53 


J.^i-  ,.J..i'^-, 


Lfp  irrrhHi^ptf^^^pfl^fc 


tv,  M  g 


85,  p.    54 


86,  p.  54 


^^ 


S 


87,  p.   54 


m 


^^ 


F~=iS= 


etc. 


^ 


^ 


etc. 


^ 


fflzS 


s 


s 


88,  p.   57 


89  fa)  p.  58 


89  (b)   p     58 


^ 


89   (h)   p    58 


? 


»J  '^  J  u 


Mijtat 


♦-^ 


89  (a)  p.    58 


j^rir-pir 


89   (c)    p.     59 


i:  1 1 


r  rjlfr^r  ^rlp 


^ 


89,  p.  59 


Mi^ii'^'ij'ii'ij 


(A)^  !>$: 

±3 


etc. 


k^ 


^F=iF 


I 


a 


9^^^ 


// 

89,  p     59 


^PP 


i^ 


i»^ 


&t^ 


etc. 


^i^^5^ 


89  (a)    p     59 

Prestissimo 


89  (a)  p      59 


P 


^m 


r^.r  icic'i' 


i^ 


JAitxuJiJ 


S:^?^ 


.  .••^:..;:•^;:•^:^::;. 


69  (a)  p     69 


ii-^  1    I   ii 


89  (a)  p    69 


r\ 


^^ 


^ 


^^ 


^ 


^ 


// 


« 


/TN 


^^^ 


2^ 


^ 


^ 


^ 


90,    p     61 


I 


91,  p      61 


i 


^ 


P 


^ 


# 


1 


1^ 


^i 


etc 


iW 


etf 


//^ 


etc 


^ 


^ 


iPP 


I 


92,    p     61 


I 


*: 


m 


m 


^^=j 


p 


#w»*## 


^p^i^ 


i: 


etc 


etc 


i^ 


*=* 


Owin^'  to  the  number  ot   relerences  to  the  two  Sonata>  here  analyzed,  it   was 
thouglit   best  to  omit  examples   and  refer   the   student   to  the    copies  of  the 
works  to  follow  the   analysis 


14  DAY  USE 

KETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

MUSIC  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
This  book^s  Q  ^^  ^^.^^  renewed. 

Renewed  EcSks  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


N0Viri968 


?EbT81972~ 


MAR  il  1976 
TPR"4l977 

KejMusic__-_l 


LD  21A-10ot-5,'65 
(F4308sl0)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


